


A Million Dreams

by doylesmom



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Anxiety, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Court Drama, F!Byleth, F/M, Feral Baby Byleth, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, More tags to be added as story continues, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Poisonings, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Deaths, Worldbuilding, eventually, like really really really slow burn, there’s gonna be a lot of hurt first though, yeah that’s a tag now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 53,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylesmom/pseuds/doylesmom
Summary: A million dreams is all it's gonna takeorJeralt accepts a contract in Almyra, and Byleth befriends an odd boy she meets in the streets of the capitolorA Claudeleth childhood friends to lovers AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! A few things to note before we begin!
> 
> The first is that this story is rated t for now, but that could go up depending on how the story develops. If anything E rated occurs it won't be until much later in the story, though.
> 
> The second is that I'm basing a lot of Almyra and Almyran culture off of the Ottoman Empire, specifically what is now Turkey, some parts of Greece, and Albania, especially the capitol of Almyra, which I'm heavily modeling off of Istanbul.
> 
> The third is that I have the best beta in the whole wide world, and you should blame her for encouraging me to write this. JK I love you Robin, never change.
> 
> Now let's get this party started!

The cloying smell of pine trees was making Byleth’s nose itch. She wrinkled her face and buried into her father’s back, only somewhat masking the obnoxious odor with the smell of horses and sweat that seemed to radiate from the man mounted in front of her. It wasn’t much better- boys were stinky, after all- but the familiarity of it was soothing nonetheless. 

Their horse pulled to a sudden stop, and Byleth was instantly on high alert, drawing her dagger from its sheath. Her fathers’ men- the few that had accompanied them- saw this movement and followed suit, their training kicking in as they formed up around their leader and his young daughter. Her father snorted and motioned for her to dismount before following suit himself.

“At ease, soldier,” he said, ruffling his hand through her already messy hair. She swatted him away half-heartedly as he took position in front of his steed. Not a moment later another group appeared from within the thicket, their leader stopping halfway. The two men sized each other up for a moment before the stranger spoke.

“So you are Jeralt. Not what I expected, but you come as highly recommended as it gets,” he said, looking her father up and down. “Alright. Follow me.” The man turned back to his crew and barked out an order in Almyran.

“Mount back up,” is all her father said before hoisting her back on his horse. His men follow his orders, although they share uneasy looks as they do so. Byleth wasn’t quite sure what to make of the whole situation, so she settled for watching the scenery pass and discreetly wiping her still itching nose against the back of her father’s tunic.

* * *

It was a week before they reached their destination in the city of Kral Şehri in southern Almyra. Luckily for Byleth’s sensitive sinuses the pine forest had thinned and all but dispersed after the first few days of travel. The downside, however, was that Byleth was completely and totally unaccustomed to the level of heat that the sun gave off the further south they went. Having spent a majority of her ten years of life in Kingdom territory, the heat was quickly overwhelming her, and she let out an audible sigh of relief as they entered the shaded city proper. 

“You okay back there, kid?” her father asked.

Byleth nodded, silently cursing the man for not even breaking a sweat in the midday heat. “Can I go explore?” she asked quietly, desperate to find more shade and stretch her legs after two weeks straight of hard riding.

Her father acquiesced with a nod of his head.“Meet me back here at sundown,” he said. 

Byleth scrambled off of the horses, quickly dashing off into the sidestreets. She stopped in an alcove and watched the last of her father’s men disappear from view. As soon as the last was out of sight she began to follow the distant sound of music in the air. 

The shaded alleyways of Kral Şehri provided some relief from the sweltering sun, although Byleth was still far too warm for comfort. City natives dressed in colorful silks and decadently colored linens stopped to double take at her as she passed, with her oddly colored hair and fair skin and black leather. She resolved to purchase new garments as soon as she could. She hated being stared at. A few whispered hurriedly upon seeing her, which was confusing, but she was on a mission and nothing would distract her from that.

After some time a grand market came into view. Byleth could smell roasting meats and the sound of music was much clearer. Seemingly hundreds of people swarmed the marketplace and surrounding streets, bartering and gossiping and carrying on in the melodic Almyran tongue. Byleth only knew a few words- _ altin _ for gold, _ haydut _ for bandit- and only one of those would help her now. Slipping into a deserted alley she began to plot out how to go about acquiring what she needed, when a hand grabbed her shoulder.

Reacting on instinct she whirled around, drawing her dagger and hooking her leg behind the stranger’s knee, knocking him to the ground as she held the dagger under his chin.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the boy said, opening his eyes to meet her own. They were a startlingly vivid green, and it took Byleth a moment to drag her eyes from his. He spoke in the common tongue of Fodlan, which was odd, but she had greater concerns at the moment.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” she growled, pressing further onto him.

“I’m Kerem,” he explained quickly, a bit of panic seeping into his expression, “A local boy. You looked lost, I was just going to offer to help, really!” Byleth snorted and let him up, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. A local boy her ass. No ‘local boy’ spoke common Fodlan with such a flawless accent. Probably some rich lord’s kid off for an adventure amongst the common folk. 

“So?” he asked, rubbing at his throat, one eyebrow cocked.

“So, what?” she asked, giving him a harsh once over.

“Do you need help?” he offered. Byleth pondered his question for a moment. Nothing in the world was free, not even help, her father always said.

“That depends, what will it cost me?” she responded. The boy looked shocked for a brief moment, but his carefree mask quickly slipped back into place. 

“That depends,” he parroted, pushing his dark brown hair out of his face. “Depends on what you need help with.”

Byleth hummed noncommittally. She weighed her options. She looked Kerem over once more.

“Fine,” she said.

Kerem beamed. It wasn’t comforting.

* * *

“So are you an assassin or something?” Kerem asked, munching on some sort of fruit, his back turned to Byleth as she changed into the clothing he had bought for her.

“Mercenary,” she responded truthfully, wrapping the brown sash around her waist, securing her grey linen skirt in place. She wished she could wear her breeches, but according to Kerem only men wore breeches around here. There wasn’t much she could do to hide her oddly colored hair, but she tucked what she could under a brocade scarf nonetheless. Kerem hummed in interest.

“So I could hire you, if I wanted to?” He turned to look her over. “Much better.”

“You couldn’t afford me, local boy,” she responded, subtly reminding him of his earlier attempt at deception. This boy was going to get himself robbed if he couldn’t even remember to stick to his own story.

“But what if I paid you in something other than money?” he asked.

Byleth looked up from where she was tying off her boots- she had refused the flimsy silk slippers he had attempted to foist on her. Admittedly she was curious as to what he meant. Her father had worked for things other than money before, after all. Food, supplies, a dry place to sleep. Seeing that he had caught her interest Kerem began to explain.

“Look. I don’t know you, I don’t know why you’re in my country, my city, but here you are. While you’re here you’re going to need to blend in, right? That’s why you came to the market, after all. So here’s my deal. You help me out when I need it, and I can teach you how to blend in. How to speak like us, eat like us, dance like us, all of it.” His voice grew more and more eager as he spoke, until he was almost vibrating with excitement, his arms gesturing wildly. “You and me? I think we’d make a great team.”

Byleth stared at him blankly until he calmed back down. She had never been very expressive to begin with, but she made sure to keep her face as neutral as possible as she considered his proposition. He had a point- her father had mentioned that they would be in Almyra for at least a few months- and being able to blend into the crowd would be immensely helpful in that time.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally. Kerem sighed.

“Alright. But in the meantime, let’s discuss your payment for the clothes.”

* * *

The architecture of Kral Şehri’s houses reminded her in many ways of eastern Fodlan. Were it not for the oppressive heat she could almost fool herself into believing she was wandering the streets of Fraldarius or Goneril. The white plaster walls of the passing houses gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun, and Byleth had to keep herself from looking too long at them, lest she prematurely blind herself. Most citizens were indoors right now, Kerem had explained before she left, avoiding the heat of the day at its peak, so at least she didn’t have to worry about being spotted. The area was pretty, but there weren’t enough hiding spots for her liking. 

Byleth turned down the final street that Kerem had described to her- into the residential area, third street on the right, two lefts, up a staircase, a right, then the third left- and counted until she reached the thirteenth house on the right. It was nondescript, the same white plaster and heavy wooden accents as every other house on the street. Despite having just met the guy an hour ago- despite her instincts telling her to run the other way- Byleth was forced trusted Kerem on a certain level. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but really she didn’t have much of a choice, after all she did owe him for his favor. Her father would scoff if he knew that. Make some quip about how badly placed trust would be the death of her. But it was true. So if Kerem said this was the house, then Byleth would trust him. For now.

Gathering her skirt, she tucked the edges of it into her sash, freeing up her legs as she crept to the back of the house. Sure enough, on the second story was an open window, with a tree leading conveniently to it. She rubbed her palms together and quickly stretched out her arms and legs before beginning to scale the tree. She made it up rather quickly, and began to shimmy her way down the sturdiest branch she could find. As she reached the halfway point, Byleth heard the sound of loud, rapid footsteps from within the house. She cursed and shimmied herself back into the thick foliage of the tree, tucking herself away just behind a large branch right as the door to the room she had been about to enter swung open.

A male and a female were arguing loudly. She wished she knew Almyran- wished she knew what they were saying. Instead, she did her best to memorize as many phrases as she could. The two fought for several minutes more before one of them- the man, she assumed, due to his heavy footsteps- left the room. 

Byleth waited for what was close to an hour before the woman left the room as well. Once she was certain the coast was clear, she restarted her earlier journey. Once she reached the windowsill she left the painted rock that Kerem had given her- it looked like a green eye, if you asked her- on the ledge.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time she returned to the marketplace. Slipping into the back alley where they had met, Byleth came face to face with an eager Kerem.

“Well?” He asked. “How did it go?”

Byleth recounted her adventure to him, watching with interest as she recited the phrases she had memorized to him. Kerem’s face turned contemplative, then cold, then furious, before slipping back into his mask of cheer.

“Well now, that’s unfortunate,” he said. “Your pronunciation is beyond atrocious, but we can work on that. Now, let’s meet here again tomorrow. Say, high noon?” Byleth bristled at his assumption that they would be continuing this, well, what it was, but in all honesty it was bound to be more entertaining than staying in her room in the inn all day, practicing sword forms her father was determined to never let her use. So Byleth nodded her assent. Kerem beamed, and with that she turned and walked away.

* * *

“So how was your day?” her father asked over a spicy broth at the inn that evening.

“Interesting,” she replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Kral Şehri means King's City.
> 
> The architecture of the buildings in the town maps in the game are heavily reminiscent of medieval Europe IMO, especially the timber framed houses. Although from a different cultural background (specifically Byzantine and Seljuk), many buildings, especially houses, in the Ottoman empire (which I am basing Almyra off of) look similarly. White plaster outer walls, heavy wood beams, stone bases. 
> 
> Google is my translator so if these are incorrect, please let me know! Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, jokingly: yeah I'll just wait until I have a thousand hits to post the next chapter
> 
> Y'all: give me a thousand hits in four days
> 
> Me: huh
> 
> Robin- the moon to my sun, the yee to my haw, the cheese to my Dimitri. This chapter would not be possible without you. Stay funky my dear.
> 
> Also- no update until next Friday- I have a convention this weekend (I'm debuting my recently finished Mercedes cosplay) and some other fics/writing projects that have to take priority. Thanks for understanding.

As it turned out, languages, much like swordplay, came quickly and easily to Byleth. With every repetitive slash of her practice blade she recited conjugations, with every stab a colloquialism. Kerem taught her history at lunch and lectured her on culture over tea. It was a routine she was quite quickly coming to enjoy. In exchange, she ran letters for him in the morning and eavesdropped for him at night, quickly reporting back on people and places she didn’t quite know or understand yet. Her father raised an eyebrow when she excused her absences as “playing with friends” but he didn’t question it too much. He was probably happy that she was supposedly spending time with others her age rather than waiting indoors all day, practicing her swordplay for the day he’d finally let her join him on missions. 

Byleth tried not to feel too bad for deceiving him. 

Her favorite days, though, were the ones where she and Kerem abandoned her studies and went out into the city. He would take her into the market and introduce her to his favorite vendors, take her down to the sea and watch as she played in the waves. They weren’t friends- you never take jobs from friends, her father had said to her once- but it was nice nonetheless. For the first time in a long time Byleth felt useful, and at the end of the day that was what mattered to her. 

On one day such as this while combing the beach for a very specific type of shell, a commotion began to arise from the city center. Kerem and Byleth locked eyes and he motioned for her to follow him. She dusted her hands off and took off after him, ducking and weaving through suddenly crowded streets and passageways. 

“Up there.” He pointed at a staircase that led up to a rooftop garden, if Byleth recalled correctly. They dashed up the stairs, pushing and shoving to be the first up. Kerem almost won, but Byleth vaulted over his shoulders at the last moment, propelling herself over him and onto the terrace first. He swatted at her half-heartedly and she easily dodged, sticking her tongue out at him as they made their way to the ledge overlooking the street below.

A riotous parade of color and merriment wove its way through the street. Byleth saw a regiment of soldiers in chainmail, bearing crimson flags decorated with a trifecta of black suns. At the front of the cavalcade rode a man in gilded armor, his head held high as he led his procession towards the outer gates to Ejder Palace, his black war horse tossing its head at the noise from the gathered crowds.

“Whoever he is, his horse doesn’t like him,” Byleth remarked. Kerem snorted, his mouth twitching up into a grin.

“That’s Omer Yilmaz. He’s a Bey from the northern territories,” Kerem explained. At Byleth’s confused look, he sat back on the stone, staring at the clouds passing through the sky. Byleth followed his lead, sitting back and watching him rather than the sky above them. After a moment he spoke again. “He’s the son of a Pasha- a former military general given governorship in reward for his service to the crown. He’s most likely here to court one of the Princesses.”

“Princesses? How many are there?” Byleth asked.

“The King currently has three daughters and four sons by his three wives,” Kerem said. 

Byleth blinked long and slow at him. “Three wives?”

“Yes. It is a common practice for the nobility here to have two or three wives,” Kerem continued staring upwards as he talked, refusing to make eye contact with Byleth for some reason. Odd. “But the King is allowed up to four. More wives, more kids, more power, you know? More daughters to marry into alliances, more sons to command your army. Sounds nice in theory. At least, until all of the sons start killing each other in order to claim the throne.” His voice turned bitter, open disapproval flooding his tone. “It’s a stupid practice. All it does is create stupid, bloody court drama that does nothing but cause pain for others.”

“Will the King take a fourth wife?” Byleth cocked her head as she asked. The midday sun burned bright overhead, and her scarf was slipping down off of her head. She shook it off, freeing her dark teal locks from their confinement. Kerem turned to watch her hair dance in the breeze coming off of the sea.

“Nah, no way. His third wife would castrate him,” he chuckled. “She’s a vicious thing, like a territorial wyvern. Rumor has it that when she first came to live with him here she didn’t know he already had two wives. She was so furious she tried to attack him. One of his viziers- a man twice her size, known to be undefeated in combat- tried to fight her off but she beat him into the dirt.” Byleth noticed his eyes sparkling with something- perhaps awe?- as he spoke. “After she bested him, the King supposedly fell to his knees and begged her forgiveness. Promised to neither wed nor bed anyone but her for the rest of his life. It took him several more months of wooing her for her to finally agree to marry him. And he’s stuck to his word as far as anyone can tell.”

They were silent for several moments as Byleth processed the information she had just learned. The third wife wasn’t from Almyra. She was strong enough to defeat a decorated veteran and frighten a King. Byleth kind of liked her. But one thing bothered her.

“How do you know all of this, Kerem?”

“Oh I know lots of things,” he responded, as vague and infuriating as ever. He must have sensed Byleth’s growing frustration, so he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I live within the palace walls. I see and hear a lot, okay?” Byleth rolled her eyes. Even she knew that thousands lived within the palace walls. Courtiers and businessmen and craftsmen and soldier alike called the many circles of the sprawling palace home. But she would accept it. For now.

“Ok, fine. So, which Princess is he courting?”

“Ah, now that’s the real question.” Kerem finally looked her in the eyes, but quickly looked away again. “Of the three Princesses, only one is betrothed- the eldest, Azra. The other two- Rabia and Hira- are eligible. Here’s where it gets interesting. Rabia is the daughter of the King’s first wife, and Hira is from the second. The first wife is from a noble family from the east. They’re old money and control a large naval brigade. Good allies to have, but Rabia is notoriously ill-mannered and difficult. She’s chased off many men that way. Hira’s mother is the daughter of Pasha from the central plains. They breed the war horses that the royal family uses, and she has a much kinder disposition than her sister. But if Omer attempts to court her, he’ll have to compete with at least ten other men.”

“Hm,” is the only response Byleth gave, watching as the crowds below dispersed back to their usual routines. It seemed that the more she learned, the less she knew when it came to Kerem.

* * *

The next day Kerem didn’t show up for their planned session. Byleth waited until midday before returning to the inn, somewhat disappointed. Kerem had skipped their daily meetings before, of course, but he had always informed her ahead of time. She assumed that with the excitement of the arrival of the Bey yesterday he had simply forgotten.

But he didn’t appear the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

A week passed. 

Byleth started to worry.

* * *

If her father had noticed her sudden edge he chose to make no comment of it as they sat together for dinner. Byleth was not chatty by nature, but their silence had an extra weight to it that evening.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked him. He looked up from his roasted lamb skewer. She met his gaze steadily, not allowing her will to break until he finally sighed and gave in.

“The palace is in an uproar right now. Someone tried to poison the youngest Prince a few nights back. He’s not dead, luckily, but he’s in a bad shape. The King is beside himself trying to figure out who poisoned his kid, and the nobility is feeling the heat. Which of course means my employer is feeling it, which means I get to feel it.” Her father snorted and continued eating.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Byleth said, her mind already wandering.

“Yeah,” her father said around a mouthful of kebab, “that Kerem kid sure is trouble. He’s been avoiding his tutors too, which-” but Byleth was already on her feet and running out of the inn. She didn’t hear him call after her or see him shrug and return to his food.

* * *

For a palace that housed a large portion of the ruling class, Ejder was surprisingly easy to sneak in to, Byleth discovered. By the time she located Kerem’s room, she should have been caught no less than seven times, but somehow she managed to evade detection, which did not soothe her nerves much at all. His room was located in the innermost circle of the palace, where the King resided with his sons and his third wife. The Princesses and the first two wives, Byleth had come to discover during her search, lived in a separate portion of the palace with the other noble women.

It was halfway through the night by the time she slipped into Kerem’s open window. She slid it shut behind her and dropped to the floor, wondering who was in charge of his security. An idiot, no doubt. It was too dark to make out specifics in his room, but she saw the large four poster bed pushed against the far wall, draped with furs and thick, woven blankets. And in the middle of the wooden monstrosity lay Kerem. Her Kerem. Her market boy who was secretly a noble but in reality was the fourth prince of the Kingdom of Almyra. 

It was a lot to process.

Without thinking, she made her way across the room to sit on the bed next to him. In the dim light of the half moon he looked pale and weak, shivering and sweating out whatever poison wracked his body. Byleth brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead, and his eyes shot open. She easily blocked his clumsy grab, and he attempted his best grin, although it looked entirely too pained to be genuine.

“Should have known you’d figure it out eventually,” he whispered. It was quiet, but it filled the room in a way that Byleth chose not to ruminate on. 

“What happened, Kerem?” she asked, her hand returning to its previous task, sweeping his hair back from his face. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch.

“Like I told you. Bloody court drama. It got me.” He attempted a wink, but another round of full body tremors overtook him, and he turned away from Byleth. “You should go.”

Instead, she shucked off her boots and curled up next to him on top of the blankets. She scooted over to him until their backs were pressed together. He sighed, but didn’t protest, and slowly, to the sound of his breathing, Byleth fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ejder means wyvern in Turkish.
> 
> In the Ottoman Empire the Sultan was allowed up to four kadins. They were the highest possible level of consort/concubine, and often referred to as wives. The harems of the Ottoman Empire actually had a fascinating sociopolitical structure that effected many of the affairs of the time. Harems consisted of not just concubines, but female relatives, female servants, and ladies of the nobility of the Empire, training to be 'useful wives'. It's fascinating, really. However I removed the concubine aspect for this story, as it would get a bit too complicated otherwise.
> 
> I'm basing Ejder Palace's build off of Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. At its prime it had approximately 5,000 residents within its walls.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://tzubakis.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tzubakis) for hot memes and story updates


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated tags and rating! 
> 
> I'm honestly so stoked that y'all are enjoying this so much! Thank you all so much for all of the kudoses and comments!!
> 
> Robin, you make the stars shine and the world spin round. At least, you do for mine.

Byleth was not, nor had she ever been, a heavy sleeper. Life as a mercenary combined with a paranoid father had seen to that. Throughout the night she woke periodically, immediately moving to check Kerem’s breathing and temperature. She thought he seemed better, but she was no doctor, so she wasn’t certain. Once she had confirmed that he was still among the living she would do a quick visual sweep of the room, and then burrow back down. At some point during the night she had managed to worm her way under the covers, and she found that the heat that Kerem gave off was quite relaxing. 

Perhaps too relaxing, as she failed to wake up as soon as someone entered the room. In fact, it wasn’t until the stranger’s hand was closing in on her that she jolted to consciousness, mouth instinctively opening wide as she bit down as hard as she could on the approaching hand.

The man howled and yanked his hand away. He stumbled backwards, a grim look on his bearded face. Byleth snarled and spit out the blood from her mouth, drawing her dagger and crouching over Kerem protectively. She must have bitten him more deeply than she thought, as she saw the man pale when she felt his blood drip down her chin. Armed men streamed into Kerem’s room, all of them leveling their weapons at her. They shouted something at her in Almyran, but she didn’t understand them.

“Stay away from him,” she hissed in common Fodlan as the first man once again attempted to approach. She watched his eyes grow extra big and wide before settling into what appeared to be resignation.

“Who are you, little demon?” he responded, his common Fodlan thick with an accent. She eyed him warily, not relaxing her stance.

“I do not answer to you,” she spat.

“Then to who?” he asked, his voice low but urgent. Rather than answer, she shifted herself closer to the still sleeping boy beneath her, baring her bloodied teeth at a guard who shifted too close. He yelped and jabbed his lance at her, and Byleth leaped at him, easily knocking his weapon out of his trembling hands. She lunged for his neck, dagger poised to kill, when two large, strong arms wrapped around her, expertly pinning her arms to her side. She thrashed as the man she had been speaking to yelled out a command in Almyran. She screamed at the top of her lungs. As a sweet smelling cloth was pressed to her face, she watched in relief as Kerem jolted awake, his expression turning from confused to panicked as he took in the sight around him. As she fought an encroaching blackness, she gestured for him to run.

He was yelling in Almyran as she passed out. Her last thought was a wish that he would escape unharmed.

* * *

_ Wake up, you fool! Wake up! _

* * *

Byleth woke up the way she was knocked out- fighting. Her arms began to strain against her restraints before she was fully aware of where she was. She continued to test her shackles as she took in her surroundings- grey stone, stale air, and a woman staring imperiously down her nose at her. Byleth bared her teeth at her, and the woman smirked.

“Now where did he find you, little demon?” the woman asked.

Byleth froze. She too spoke common Fodlan, but unlike the man from before, hers was smooth and natural. This woman was from Fodlan, whoever she was.

“What do you want with Kerem?” Byleth growled, jerking even harder than before.

The woman simply sat there and watched for a moment. “Well, for starters, I’d like for him to stop skipping his daily lessons, but I think I’ve found the answer as to why he’s been doing that so often as of late,” she mused.

Byleth stopped struggling for a moment, almost forgetting about her arms locked up behind her back. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. The woman arched a perfectly manicured brow, giving Byleth another once over.

“Do you know who I am, girl?” the woman asked. Byleth began her struggle anew, shaking her head in response to the question. The woman sighed and shook her head.

“That boy, I swear. Well, I shall introduce us both, then. My name is Clara. I am the third wife of the King Selim Shah Sultan, King of Kings, Refuge of the World, so on and so forth.” The woman rolled her eyes and began picking at her cuticles. “You know how nobles are- too many titles, not enough brains. And the boy whose room you illegally entered while armed is my son, Kerem Shahzada Sultan, fourth son of the King, future Khan of the southern provinces, blah blah blah.” The woman, Clara, looked her in the eyes, her green eyes so startlingly similar to Kerem’s that Byleth had to wonder how she had not seen it before. “Now. Who are you, little demon?”

“I am a mercenary,” Byleth finally responded, her voice hoarse. “Kerem- your son- hired me to run errands for him. When he didn’t contact me for a week I became worried, and then my father mentioned that a prince with the same name as my employer had been poisoned, and I put two and two together, so I came to find him.”

“Your father?”

“Jeralt Eisner. Also a mercenary. He’s here on a contract,” Byleth explained. Clara’s eyebrows shot up.

“Jeralt Eisner is in my city and I didn’t know about it?” she asks in disbelief. “Nader! Get your sorry ass in here!”

The man from before came into the cell, his face stony and impassive. They spoke in rapid fire Almyran, too fast for Byleth to catch more than a word or two. They seemed to be bickering, and Byleth watched with some measure of amusement as Clara pointed a sharp fingernail at Nader’s throat, causing him to hold up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine,” he groused, turning to face Byleth. “You are coming with us, girl.” Byleth sighed and stood up, dropping the cuffs she had slipped off of her hands as she strode out of the still open cell. Clara laughed at Nader’s look of shock, and Byleth felt a stirring of warmth in her chest at the sound.

* * *

Clara allowed her to stop momentarily to wash her mouth out and Byleth felt much refreshed after ridding herself of the taste of iron and dirt. Their trio took a winding path through the now brightly lit palace, and despite herself Byleth couldn’t help but let her eyes wander. It was a beautiful place, carved of marble and iron and gold, hung with rich tapestries and bustling with so many sounds and smells that it almost made her head spin.

“First time in the palace, girl?” Clara asked, nodding at some passing dignitaries. Byleth hummed a confirmation. “Jeralt is working here but he didn’t bring you with him?”

“He won’t allow me to work with him,” Byleth responded, only half paying attention. Clara was silent for a moment.

“I see,” she said finally.

All too soon they had arrived in the outermost circle of Ejder Palace. Byleth couldn’t quite see where they were going, with Clara ahead of her and Nader behind, but when they stopped short, she put her hand to her newly returned dagger, just in case.

“Jeralt Eisner, I believe I have something of yours,” Clara’s voice rang through the courtyard, and Byleth felt her blood turn to ice. Oh no.

“Consort Clara, how can I help you?” came her father’s low rumble, and before Byleth could make a break for it Nader grabbed her by her collar and hauled her to stand in front of himself and Clara. 

“Tell me how your daughter managed to sneak her way into the first circle last night, past all of our guards and security, into my son’s room, where she then wounded one of our top generals in a foolhardy attempt to protect my son?”

Her father’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as Nader presented his bandaged hand. Jeralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose as Clara continued. “You should count yourself lucky that he had the forethought to have her taken to a cell rather than executed on the spot. Really, Jeralt, what have you been teaching her?”

“In my defense, I wasn’t even aware that she was here,” Jeralt sighed, looking Byleth over in disappointment. It left a sour feeling in her stomach, and she looked away from his judgemental gaze. “Come on, kid, you couldn’t have waited a few more years before getting tossed in jail?”

“She claims my son hired her, although this is the first I’m hearing about it.” Clara’s voice was dry with amusement. A crowd had gathered around them at this point, nobles, artisans, and warriors alike watching on as some tried to translate what was happening. Byleth did her best not to fidget, but to meet the gazes thrown her way head on. “As it stands, I have every right to execute her on the spot for her transgressions, unless you can convince me otherwise?” 

At this, the noise from the crowd began to swell and Jeralt went pale. Byleth froze, the sourness in her stomach coalescing into a ball of dread. As Jeralt opened his mouth to plea for mercy, the crowd parted, and Kerem- her Kerem- strode through.

He was still a sickly color, the circles under his eyes dark and deep. But he was dressed in regal finery the likes of which Byleth had never seen. White silk trousers and a forest green tunic embroidered with gold, a golden sash hung with little balls of multicolored wool and the finest leather boots she had ever seen, and atop his head a circlet of gold and emeralds. Although sweat marred his brow, he looked every inch the young prince that Byleth could no longer deny he was.

“That is enough, mother,” he said, his voice strong and clear as it echoed through the courtyard. “That girl is under my employ and my protection. Execute her and you face the wrath of the fourth son of the King. Release her, now.”

Clara rolled her eyes and motioned for Nader to let Byleth go. As soon as she was released she strode calmly, purposefully, over to stand beside Kerem. He did not look at her as he addressed the gathered crowd once more.

“As you can see, whoever tried to kill me failed. Pass this message along, all you who are here today, that the fourth son of the King, the Prince Kerem Shahzada Sultan, future Khan of the southern provinces, he who walks the path of the arrow, blessed by the Gods of old, and favored in his father’s eyes will not succumb to such petty and meager attempts to take his life.” And with that he turned and left, Byleth dutifully following behind, her head held high and teeth bared at those who stared too long. 

_ Iblis _ , the crowd whispered. _ Demon _.

* * *

They made it through the door of Kerem’s chambers before he collapsed, his breathing heavy and hard, as though he’d run a race rather than walked through the palace. Byleth wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped him limp his way to his bed. Once he was settled she wrestled his boots off and offered him a drink from a jug of water at his bedside after she drank some herself first and determined it to be safe. They sat together in silence for a long while, until the sun was high in the afternoon sky.

“So, you know who I am now,” he finally said.

“Well, I had assumed you were a noble’s son,” Byleth replied. “Just not a Prince.”

“Well, now you know.” Kerem turned to face her, his green eyes sharp despite his fatigued state. “So, will you continue to work for me? As you can see, I have much need for assistance right now, and the number of people I can trust I can count on one hand. I’ll pay however much you want, so long as it buys your loyalty to me.”

“Pay me a retainer’s fee and continue our lessons and you have a deal,” Byleth said, meeting his gaze. He smiled at her, and the two shook hands.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up with royal titles is a lot harder than expected? Who would've thought. 
> 
> If Claude's mom ever gets a canon name I'll update this chapter, but for now she remains Clara.
> 
> Hey Dimileth fans: look out for a new piece from me, coming out on the 1st ;)
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://tzubakis.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tzubakis) for hot memes and story updates


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had to deal with a minor cosplay emergency followed by two sick dogs. But here’s the next chapter! Please enjoy!
> 
> Robin, you are the best beta I’ve ever had, hands down. Thank you for allowing me to idea dump in your dms. <3

Kerem heaved a long suffering sigh as Byleth entered his room. 

“You know,” he said, not looking up from his book, “You don’t have to come in through the window. You do have permission to come through the doors now, like every other member of my staff.” 

Byleth dropped down from her perch on the window ledge, a small pouch strapped to her back. She chose not to comment, face impassive as ever, and instead strode over to the fireplace to stoke the flame that was slowly dying out. It was ghastly hot in the room, but according to her research the heat would help Kerem sweat out the remainder of the poison in his body. She pulled out a two packages from her bag, and tossed the smaller one to Kerem. The larger, she unwrapped herself. A leather bound tome, written in Almyran, that she had purchased from a vendor in the market. Kerem unwrapped the smaller package and began to pick at the nuts and dried fruits inside. The two sat in silence for some time, eating and reading. It was almost nice, until Kerem began coughing. Byleth jerked her head up from her book to stare icily at the suddenly sheepish boy. 

“Did you not take your medicine while I was gone?” she asked. 

“It tastes like moldy feet!” he whined, plastering an innocent look on his face. Byleth didn’t buy it. 

“Moldy feet that will help clear the last of that poison out of your body,” she said sharply, already rising to her feet. She walked to his bedside to stare him down. Kerem began to inch backwards. 

“Now, listen,” he began before bolting out of bed and over to the door. Byleth immediately gave chase, almost managing to hook his collar before the door was flung open and Kerem ran face first into his incredibly unamused looking mother.

“Kerem,” she greeted her son, clasping a hand firmly on his shoulder, “What are you up to?”

“Avoiding his medicine again,” Byleth piped up from behind him. Clara’s hand tightened and Kerem yelped, trying and failing to duck out of her iron grip. 

“Boy I will pin you down if I have to,” Clara growled. Kerem groaned and finally shook off his mother, dragging his feet dramatically as he made his way back to his bed. Under the watchful eyes of Byleth and his mother he grabbed his medicine out from where he had stuffed it under his pillow, chewed, swallowed, and gagged at the taste. Satisfied, Clara turned to Byleth. 

“You, sit down. I have things that both of you need to know.” Byleth resisted the urge to salute as she took a seat on Kerem’s bed. Clara leaned against the wall by the door, the midday sun pouring in through Kerem’s stained glass windows coloring her face a brilliant golden color. 

“You’ve come a good job so far, kid,” Clara addressed Byleth. “We updated the guard rotation to your specifications and implemented a new taste testing system in the kitchens. Most of our men would normally chafe at being given directions by a girl- one your age no less- but you managed to scare the wits out of them with your little stunt with Nader.” She looked half impressed and Byleth almost felt herself flush with pride. 

“But your job has only begun,” Clara continued, her face suddenly growing stony. “We are a people who respect strength, yes, but physical strength and battle prowess are only one part of the greater whole. From now on, every day, you will attend lessons with me from breakfast until lunch. If you want to survive here you have to learn how to battle with wits and words as well as steel. Am I understood, girl?”

“Yes ma’am,” Byleth said, her voice hushed. Kerem looked somewhat put out at the thought of his mother taking his right hand for half of the day. 

“And you,” Clara leveled her gaze at her son, “You will continue your daily lessons with Nader and your other tutors. If I hear that you aren’t…” she let her sentence trail off, but the threat was very clear in her voice. “Also you need to get dressed. Erhan has called a meeting with you and all of your siblings this evening, so you best begin preparing now.”

Kerem let out a groan and flopped back onto his pillows at this. Byleth raised a single eyebrow. 

“My oldest brother,” Kerem explained. “A meeting between the seven of us. No retainers, no servants, no parents. It’s a chance for everyone to size everyone else up, and I’m not at my best right now.”

“Well if you would just take your medicine-” Byleth began, only for Kerem to launch a pillow into her face. She threw it back at him and the two began to tussle for a moment until Clara cleared her throat. 

“Yes, so Kerem will be needed for however long the meeting lasts. So get going, girl, and be back tomorrow morning for your first lesson.” Byleth nodded and went to leave the room. As she passed Clara, the older woman grasped Byleth’s wrist to stop her. 

“And go see your father, girl. You’ve been avoiding him for a week. Time to face him.” Byleth said nothing, leaving through the heavy, wooden door and quickly pocketing the scrap of paper she had been handed. 

* * *

Byleth found her father in the western palace stables, tending to his horse. He and some of his men were gathered by the entrance to the barn, and all but one- a burly red headed man named Viktor who had been with her father for as long as she could remember- left when they saw her approach. Viktor nodded at her and continued untacking his horse as her father turned to face her. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before her father motioned for her to follow him. The two walked for some time until they reached an unoccupied section of the stables. They stood in silence for some time before her father finally spoke. 

“Listen, kid. I get why you took the job. I’m not mad about that. You’re too much like me for me to not get that.” He turned to face the horse behind him as he continued to speak. “But just remember that these aren’t our people. They had a different culture, different morals here. That’s not a bad thing. Just remember that you’re your own person and there’s no shame in saying no, alright?” Byleth said nothing and watched her father fumble with his words. She wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. He turned back to look at her and it must have shown on her normally impassive face because he took a deep breath and tried again. 

“Listen, kid. I know we’ve never talked about this before but. Well. Here goes anyways. You and Kerem are at the age where things start to change and you start feeling these urges and-” Byleth turned and began walking away, leaving her father to flounder. 

Nope. Not having that discussion today.

“Byleth, wait we need to talk about this.” Her father chased after her, almost stumbling over his own two feet. Byleth stopped in the middle of the aisle to turn to look at him. 

“Father. In case you forgot, I was raised in a band of mercenaries. I know how that stuff works. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.” She walked away from him once more and luckily for her, this time he didn’t follow. Viktor’s rumbling laugh followed after her, staining her cheeks pink as she fled.

* * *

According to the piece of paper that Clara had given her, the best place to spy on the proceedings in the room where the siblings were to meet was in a shadowy alcove just above a beautiful stained glass window. It was discreet, just barely big enough for her to fit into it, and gave her a view of the entire room before the others even began to arrive. So long as she was quiet and still, nobody would notice she was there. 

The first to arrive was Erhan, the eldest son of the King. He had dark, curly hair and a stern face. He wore black, polished armor that appeared more decorative than practical, as though he was trying to appear larger than his already immense frame. He sat down on a velvet green divan and stared almost unblinkingly at the gilded doors that he had just entered from.

Soon after entered two girls- his sisters, Azra and Rabia. All three shared the same straight-backed grace and dark, heavyset brows. Azra moved like a court lady, all elegance and small movements as she sat across from her brother with her back to the door. Despite her imposing appearance, her eyes softened as she bowed her head in greeting to her elder brother. The way her deep violet dress fluttered around her as she settled was too perfect to be anything but years of practice in the art of femininity. 

Rabia, on the other hand, moved like a predator- all sharp eyes and purposeful movements. She didn’t waste any extra energy on flutters or dance-like steps, but rather stopped, scanned the room, and then bowed sharply to her brother before sitting next to her sister. She too wore armor, although hers was that of an archer’s rather than the berserker and cavalry type that Almyrans seemed to prefer. Byleth liked her almost instantly. She seemed the type her father would recruit. 

Then came another girl- Hira, the youngest sister. Dressed in a simple shirt and skirt, she carried with her a tray of fruits, a bright smile on her face as she pressed a kiss on each cheek of each of her siblings. Her black hair was braided away from her face, although a few strands slipped loose as she bounced from sibling to sibling in greeting. Her entire demeanor seemed too bright and cheerful for Byleth’s tastes. 

Volkan came next. The second son of the King, he too had long hair like his sister Hira, although his was loose around his face. He was wiry- a scholar, judging by the ink stains on his hands. He nodded to Erhan and then sat on an ottoman of almost the same shade of orange as his tunic. He fidgeted nervously in the silence. 

The last two in were Melik and Kerem, who walked in together. Melik was a head taller than Kerem, a goofy grin on his handsome face as he playfully ruffled Kerem’s hair. Kerem scowled and swatted at him, attempting to restyle it as he took his seat in the circle. 

“So you are still alive, I see,” Erhan said, his voice gruff and unimpressed. “I guess it _ would _ take more than an upset stomach to off a mutt.”

“Erhan. I see your wife hasn’t smothered you in your sleep yet. Shame, she’s so pretty it would be quite the tragedy were the two of you to reproduce,” Kerem shot back, his face taking on what Byleth had come to know as his ‘prince mask’. It was cold and uncaring and entirely too unlike her boss for her comfort. 

“Really, you would think that mother of yours would have taught you manners by now,” came the silky smooth voice of Azra. She raised a perfectly manicured hand to her face, as though in contemplation. “Although, I’m not quite sure she has them either. After all, what do cowards know of the ways of their betters?”

“Speaking of mothers, how is yours doing? I heard quite the interesting tale the other day about who Aysu was spreading her legs for-”

“Don’t speak of our mother like that you dirty half breed,” Erhan hissed, leaning forward threateningly in his seat. Kerem didn’t react, and Byleth felt a flutter of pride. “You are an embarrassment to our bloodline and you would do well to remember your place.”

“Oh believe me, I’m well aware of my place,” Kerem responded flippantly. Erhan didn’t seem to quite understand what to make of that and sat back. 

“Petty squabbling aside, what reason have you to call us here today, Erhan?” Rabia asked.

“Yes, I’d quite like to know myself,” Volkan muttered. 

“I wanted to inform you all the Melik’s mertlik ceremony is upon us,” Erhan stated. At this, every seemed to sit up straighter. “We leave for the coast in a fortnight. The usual rules apply- one retainer per person, nobody else but family may be present. So choose wisely.”

“Oh, Melik, congratulations,” Hira cooed at her brother. He flushed under her praise and went to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly, but stopped as if suddenly remembering his company. “Is _ everyone _ coming?” She asked, her gaze sliding coolly over Kerem, who pretended not to take notice. 

“By our esteemed Father’s order, yes.” Erhan admitted reluctantly. This seemed to mollify the others, but only somewhat. 

“How unfortunate,” Volkan replied. 

A few more minutes of thinly veiled insults tossed back and forth and Erhan dismissed the group. Erhan left first, followed by Volkan, then Azra, then Hira. Rabia sat in silence, looking Kerem up and down once more before nodding to him and leaving. Then, it was just Melik and Kerem left. 

“I’m glad you’re alright, little brother,” Melik said quietly. He and Kerem shook hands and then Melik left, leaving Kerem alone to his thoughts. 

“You can come down from there now,” he called out. Byleth swung off of the ledge and jumped down, landing in a graceful crouch. 

“How did you know I was up there?” she asked, moving to take a seat next to him. She toyed with one of the tassels coming off of his belt. 

“I didn’t,” he replied, watching her carefully. “What did you think of my siblings? An interesting bunch, aren’t they?”

Byleth thought about what she had seen. The snide remarks, the outright cruelty, the way that Melik and Rabia has waited until no one else was around to show even the most minute concern for her Kerem.

“I don’t trust them.” Was all she said. 

“Smart,” Kerem responded. They sat in silence for a while more. “One of them was behind my poisoning.”

“I know,” Byleth said. 

“I don’t know which one though,” Kerem admitted.

“We’ll figure it out,” she replied. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooh things are happening. What do you think? Do you think it was one of his siblings? Which one? Or was it someone else? Tell me your thoughts in the comments! 
> 
> Mertlik is the Turkish word for manliness/bravery. More info next chapter ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer charger broke and then my dogs got sick again but worse this time. Life is a real bitch sometimes. Here’s another chapter though.
> 
> Robin- you make me love my writing and I’ll never stop being thankful for that.

“You have the enunciation of a mercenary,” Clara drawled from her seat by the window. “Do better. Again.”

“I am a mercenary,” Byleth growled, exhausted from three hours of classical poetry recitation. The more time she spent learning under Clara, the more she came to be absolutely irritated by the woman.

“No,” Clara snapped, looking up from her book. “You’re not. Not anymore. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a retainer to a Prince now, and if you don’t look, sound, and act it you’ll bring shame upon yourself and him. So, again.”

Before Byleth could protest, a rapid knock came at the parlor door. Byleth opened it and sighed with relief at the sight of Kerem, who looked equally worn down from his own morning lessons.

“Pardon us, mother, but we have a lunch meeting to attend,” he said, grasping Byleth’s wrist and pulling her after him before his mother could protest. The door slammed shut behind her, and the two took off running, Kerem laughing as they dodged servants and courtiers alike. They must have made an odd picture, an Almyran prince dragging around a common Fodlan girl a head taller than him, but neither of them really cared, lost in the simple joy of a running as fast as they could with no destination in mind.

The two finally came to a gasping stop in front of the northern stables, where the royal family’s mounts were housed.

“Come on, I have something to show you,” Kerem said, beaming at her as he caught his breath.

In the past twelve days his health had bounced back to normal, and with his flushed face and clear eyes Byleth would never have guessed that he had been on death’s door just a few weeks ago if she hadn’t seen it for herself. Kerem dusted off his pants and strode purposefully into the stables, Byleth following quickly behind, skirts gathered in her hand. She missed wearing breeches at times like this, but Clara had simply laughed when Byleth had asked if she could start wearing them again.

In the very back of the stables stood a large, all black Almyran war horse, tied up and tacked in full royal regalia. It snorted and bent its head down to sniff at Kerem, who stood next to its head, stroking its face lovingly.

“This is Yamud,” Kerem said quietly. “He was gifted to my mother at my birth, who in turn gifted him to me when it was time for me to learn how to ride.”

“I didn’t know you could ride,” Byleth said, reaching her hand out for Yamud to smell. The majestic beast let out a snort and began to nibble at her fingers.

“I can, I just prefer not to,” Kerem admitted, untying Yamud from his post. He led Byleth to the saddle and mounted up, reaching his hand out to help her swing up behind him. He walked them out of the stables, and kicked Yamud into a canter once they reached the courtyard. Byleth startled at the sudden pace change and wrapped her arms around Kerem, holding on tight as they sped through the back gates of the palace and out into the city streets. Kerem rode like her father, with a singlemindedness that seemed to filter out everything but the horse beneath him and the road ahead. It made her miss her father somewhat- he had left the morning before to return to Fodlan for a short time. He wouldn’t tell her why, but she tried not to let that bother her. After all, she wasn’t one of his mercenaries.

She was Kerem’s now.

* * *

She and Kerem rode for several hours along the southern coastline of Almyra. For Byleth, who had only ever seen the frozen Northern Sea of Faerghus, it was a magnificent sight, gleaming blue and green in the bright light of day. The smell of salt that permeated the air of the palace was multiplied tenfold on the coastline, and it scratched at her nose and made her want to take big, deep breaths of it.

Two other riders stood off in the distance, as though they were waiting for Kerem and Byleth. Her hand flew to her dagger, but Kerem waved in greeting and she relaxed. They came into focus, and Byleth felt herself relax marginally. It was Rabia and Melik, each mounted on their own war horses.

“You’re late, little brother,” Rabia drawled, her sharp eyes taking in the sight of Byleth, windswept and pink cheeked. “And you brought company.”

“I couldn’t figure out how to shake her,” Kerem lied smoothly, bright grin not faltering once. “She’s the most persistent retainer I’ve ever met.”

“Well, I won’t tell father if you don’t,” Melik joked, flashing a handsome smile at Byleth. She looked away, shyly.

“Normally only the royal family is allowed at our destination,” Kerem explained, kicking Yamud forward and past his siblings. The other two moved to follow them and they were off once more. Byleth wondered where they were headed, clinging tightly to Kerem once more as the group took off down the coastline onto a sandy beach. The further down they rode, the higher the ground beside them rose, until it was a towering, rocky cliff blocking out the afternoon light.

The four of them came to a stop at an alcove in the stone. Rabia and Melik dismounted, and Byleth and Kerem followed suit. The three siblings tied up their mounts as far back into the dip in the cliff as they could.

“We go on foot from here,” Rabia said, striding confidently forward and around a bend. Byleth chased after her, forgetting about Melik and Kerem in her eagerness. Rabia raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no comment, stopping only to help Byleth hop onto a stone ledge.

“Why do you not wear pants?” She asked.

“Clara won’t allow me,” Byleth responded, shrugging. Rabia made a thoughtful sound, but otherwise dropped the topic. The two waited for the boys to catch up. They came racing around the bend, laughing and shoving at each other as each tried to be the first one up. Melik won by a hair, and Kerem groaned in mock defeat. Once the boys had brushed the sand off of their pants, Byleth took her place by Kerem’s side as they walked forward and around another bend before stopping in front of a large cave entrance.

“We’re here,” Kerem said, his eyes shining with joy. Byleth opened her mouth to ask, but snapped it shut as the call of a wyvern echoed from within.

* * *

The herd was around 300 strong, the breeder had explained. He was a wizened old man, stoop-backed and white haired with tough, gnarled hands. There were several hatcheries located around Almyra, but this one in particular was renowned for producing the fastest, strongest, and most resilient wyverns.

“Almyra is renowned for our wyvern infantry,” Kerem told her as they explored the cavern. “Wyverns are an integral part of our culture.”

“So why are we here?” Byleth asked, ducking as a hatchling flew overhead.

“Melik’s mertlik ceremony.” Kerem said, peering into a nest. “It’s an ancient ceremony that nobody but the nobility practices anymore. He’s here to choose his wyvern.” Byleth stopped and gave him a long look. He sighed and began to explain.

“It’s a ceremony from the days when Almyra was a nation of warring tribes rather than a unified kingdom. Boys would ride a wyvern from one end of their tribe’s territory into a neighboring territory. They’d have to steal something from them and bring it back without being killed. If they made it back it signified that they were a man.” Kerem scrunched his nose, though whether it was the smell or the practice that made him react like that Byleth couldn’t tell. “Nowadays, the noble boys and princes ride a wyvern from here, the southernmost point of the kingdom, all the way to the northern sea and back. He gets five full days to get there and back. Once he’s back, the head of the family declares him a man and then there’s a big feast and so on and so forth.”

“How do you know he made it all the way up and back? How do you know he didn’t just fly to a nearby forest for a few days before heading back?” Byleth asked.

“He has to spear a fish that can only be found in the northern sea and bring that back as proof.” Kerem tugged her into a passageway off of the main cavern.

“And what happens if he fails?” It was dark in the passageway, and not for the first time Byleth wished she knew magic. At her question, Kerem came to a stop. She couldn’t see him in the blackness, but she could see his expression in her mind so clearly it almost hurt.

“If he fails, he brings shame upon himself and his family. It would be better if he died.” Kerem began walking again and the two continued their exploration of the nests.

* * *

Kerem and Byleth left first, and returned as the moon was just rising over the domed roofs of the palace. They dropped Yamud at the stable and made their way back to Kerem’s quarters. Before he entered the hallway that led to his rooms, he stopped suddenly, his face pensive.

“Do you mind if we make one more stop?” he asked her. She nodded, and he led her past the hallway to a door hidden in the wall that she hadn’t noticed before. It led to a set of stairs that wound up and up and up until it finally spat them out onto the roof of the palace.

Kerem led her over to a pile of blankets hidden behind a decorative turret. They were soft and still warm from the sun and they smelled like Kerem, who laid down on them and beckoned for her to join him. Laying side by side they spent some time looking up at the night sky, velvet blue and studded with diamond stars. It was beautiful.

“We leave tomorrow afternoon,” Byleth said quietly. Kerem looked over at her, studying her intently. “Are you ready?”

“No,” he said, folding his arms behind his head, “I’m not.”

Byleth shivered in the rapidly cooling air, and Kerem slid closer to her, pressing their sides together. It felt nice, the warmth.

“I’m going to change this place,” he said to her, turning to look into her eyes. “Almyra. The way it works. The way people think. I’m going to open the borders to Fodlan, restart the trade with them. Bring in new people, new ideas. Get rid of the sibling wars and the stupid, deadly traditions. Change the fact that even someone as powerful and talented as Rabia can’t make her own way in life just because she’s a girl. Make it so no kid feels ashamed of his heritage, regardless of who his parents are and where they came from.”

“Lofty goals,” Byleth responded, watching the mirth return to his eyes at her statement. He slid their hands together, and she felt even warmer than before.

“Maybe so. But I’ll do it, Byleth, I swear.” He sounded almost desperate, and she squeezed his hand with her own.

“I believe in you, Kerem,” she said, a small smile gracing her normally impassive face. “But you’re not gonna do it. We’re gonna do it. Together.”

* * *

When Byleth awoke the next morning, it was in her own bed, under her own blankets. She wondered who moved her. A knock came at her door, and she crawled out of bed to answer it. A servant handed her a package before bowing and leaving.

Inside was a beautiful set of forest green silk pants, the kind she had seen Rabia wearing. They were embroidered with golden butterflies around the hems and slipped through her fingers like water. A note fell from the wrapping to the ground below. She picked it up.

_ These are much more practical than your skirts. Don’t let Clara boss you around so much. You’re Kerem’s retainer, not hers. _

_ -Rabia _

Byleth smiled, and got dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this chapter. The calm before the storm. Drop your thoughts, predictions, and Netflix recommendations below (I need new shows to binge).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t get a ticket to the MCR reunion show :(
> 
> Robin- have fun with your boxes and keep on being the best beta ever. Thank you for making the fight scene not bad :)

Byleth was given her own horse for the trip to the site where the mertlik ceremony would take place. It was an odd thing to be riding by herself after having spent the past several months riding either with her father or Kerem, but something about riding solo once more felt freeing. Or perhaps that was just her reaction to finally wearing pants again. Clara had certainly been unimpressed when she had arrived wearing Rabia’s gift, but Kerem said nothing against it so Clara could do nothing. It was a small victory, but one Byleth appreciated nonetheless.

Her genial mood lasted all the way from the moment their retinue- consisting of herself, Kerem, Clara, and Clara’s lady in waiting- left the palace all the way until they arrived at the site of the ceremony. It was a large, open field, about a mile from the wyvern caves. Their group was the last to arrive, the other siblings and their mothers having arrived already. As Byleth dismounted, she got her first glimpse of the King’s consorts.

The first was a tall, willowy woman with round eyes and a soft smile. She was swathed in a dress of soft pink, her pin-straight brown hair falling loose and free around her face. Volkan and Hira stood on either side of her, talking amicably amongst themselves as they and their retainers walked through the camp. This was Kamelya, the second consort, and mother of Melik as well as Volkan and Hira.

The second was much shorter, with a full mane of black curls braided through with flowers. She was clothed in royal purple, and lounged upon a pile of gilded pillows and blankets, braiding flowers into Azra’s hair as she hummed a light melody. Kamelya’s entourage passed by, and she waved cheerfully. Byleth watched closely as Kamelya’s face briefly morphed into a tight, angry look before smoothing into one of disinterested politeness. The other consort, Aysu, did not seem to notice, and continued smiling and humming absentmindedly.

Neither woman acknowledged Clara.

Kerem led them out to an area just north of the main camp and dismounted. Byleth followed suit, and the two of them helped Clara down from her horse. Some of Clara’s hair had come loose from her tight coiffure, catching the light of the setting sun and gleaming a golden brown that made her already bright green eyes seem even brighter. She was a beautiful woman, Byleth noted for not the first time.

“Come, let us set up the tents.” Clara’s lady in waiting said softly, leading Byleth away from the regal picture of Kerem and Clara bathed in the orange light of sunset. She took one last look, silently committing the image to memory, before going off to do her duties.

* * *

Melik arrived just as the sun had dipped over the horizon, the sky painted purple and blue. He clapped Kerem into a brief hug and gave Byleth a bow and pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand, winking at her as he did so. Kerem rolled his eyes and shoved at Melik, but Byleth quickly looked away. She had never had anyone flirt with her before like that and it made her feel warm inside. Not that it would have shown on the outside- she was notoriously stone faced, regardless of the situation- but still, better safe than sorry.

“Looks like you got the nice tents again, little brother!” Melik whistled, giving the two structures- to call them tents was sacrilege in Byleth’s books, seeing as they were larger than some of the inn rooms she and her father had shared in the past- an appreciative look over. “Where is Byleth sleeping?”

“In Kerem’s tent, of course,” Byleth said.

“Well, if he starts snoring too loud, you can always come sleep in my tent-” Melik began to offer before Kerem smacked him on the back of the head. “Hey, hey, just kidding!”

The two tussled, all elbows and foot stomping. It was a play fight, but it still put Byleth on edge, watching them like a hawk, just in case.

“Make sure they don’t kill each other,” Clara said as she and her lady in waiting walked by, on their way to go wait for the arrival of the King with Aysu and Kamelya. Byleth nodded her head and took a seat on a cushion by the fire. This was by far the nicest camp site she had ever been at. Once her job was done she was going to miss the luxuries of being a royal retainer. Something in her chest twinged at the thought, so she pushed it aside and went back to watching the boys, who were now chasing each other through the campsite.

“They’re easily entertained.” Rabia murmured from beside her. Byleth turned and blinked at the girl who had suddenly appeared beside her.

“I agree,” Byleth replied evenly.

“Care to spar?” Rabia asked.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Rabia was every bit as ferocious of a fighter as she appeared. They had been going at it for almost an hour now, trading blows with equal intensity. Neither girl was the kind to go easy on anyone during a fight, and it showed in their sore, tiring movements. The sun was long set, and the two fought by the light of the fire, Kerem and Melik having stopped their own play to come watch the two girls battle.

Rabia swung her practice sword at Byleth, who blocked with her own, pushing Rabia back with a grunt and a curse. She was a fast and fluid fighter, her footwork like that of a dancer rather than a warrior. But these dances were unfamiliar ones to Byleth, which made predicting Rabia’s next move tricky. Byleth charged and swung her sword down with a cry, her shoulders screaming at the follow through. Rabia dodged, rolling to the side, her eyes sharp beneath her sweaty brow. She pushed herself up onto her hands and twisted, kicking out her leg and catching Byleth’s knee, sending her tumbling to the ground and knocking her sword out of her hands. Rabia pounced, stabbing her sword down at Byleth’s prone form. Instinct made Byleth throw her body out of the way just as Rabia’s sword sunk into the soft, loamy ground. Pushing herself up, Byleth drew the only weapon remaining on her person, the knife her father had given her, and held it to Rabia’s throat. The two girls stood in breathless silence, measuring each other carefully, like two predators poised on the edge of war and peace.

Rabia broke first.

“I’m impressed,” she said, blinking out of the staring contest the two had been having. Byleth sheathed her knife, holding out a hand to help Rabia to her feet. “I must admit; I wasn’t expecting you to pull your knife.”

“Anything to win,” Byleth responded. Rabia gave her a small smile as hard and sharp as she was.

“I agree. Come train with me tomorrow; I feel myself growing stagnant, and a new sparring partner who knows what she’s doing will surely shake me out of my routine enough to keep propelling my growth.”

“Byleth will do no such thing,” came the clipped voice of Clara, who was walking around the fire, irritation drawing lines around her eyes and mouth. Byleth felt something in her snap at that.

“Kerem, do you mind if I spar with Rabia tomorrow?” she asked, turning her back to Clara. Kerem looked between her and his mother pensively, thinking it over.

“No, go right ahead,” he said finally. Clara clicked her tongue in disappointment, and with that Rabia took her leave, taking the wooden swords with her. Melik followed quickly behind her, stopping to ruffle Byleth’s hair before charging after his sister. Clara’s lady in waiting went into their shared tent, and then it was just the three of them. Clara and Byleth stared each other down.

“Stay away from that girl,” Clara warned her, “Nothing good will come of associating with the likes of her.”

“I think,” Byleth said lowly, narrowing her eyes, “That I shall do as I please.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment longer, before Clara sighed and turned to go into her own tent, leaving Kerem and Byleth to stand together in the darkness outside.

“What was that about?” Kerem asked, scratching the back of his head.

“I don’t know,” Byleth said, “But I’m not sure that I won.”

* * *

They awoke before dawn the next day. Byleth wore pants once more, this time in a creamy tan with gold embroidery. Kerem wore clothing in the colors of the royal family- verdant green and black. Together they exited the tent into the misty early morning, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

They were the last to arrive to the center of camp. Standing in a half circle around two men were the rest of the siblings, the consorts, Clara, and the retainers. Byleth took her place next to Clara’s lady in waiting, ignoring the haughty and curious looks the other retainers were shooting her. One of the men stepped forward, and the small talk quieted.

King Selim was a startlingly handsome man. His sharp cheeks and full beard paired with black curls shot through with grey and intense golden eyes gave him the look of a man who was both powerful and wise. He was tall and straight-backed, and he moved with the assurance of a man who was well aware of his impact on those around him.

In short, he looked like a king.

Selim stopped first to greet his children, in order of their birth. Erhan, who she now realized looked almost star tingly like a young clone of his father, bowed his head in respect. Azra pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. Volkan shook his father’s hand. Rabia nodded as demurely as Byleth had ever seen her. Hira wrapped him in a hug. Kerem was given a hair ruffle and a flash of a smile, which made Erhan, Azra, and Hira bristle. Melik, who stood in the center of the circle still, was last to be greeted, despite being older than Kerem. He was dressed in all black, his hair pushed back out of his face, making him look simultaneously older and younger than he was. He kneeled on one knee before his father as he approached. Selim stopped before him, and began to speak.

“Long ago, in the time of our ancestors,” he said, his voice carrying through the whole clearing, “this land was not Almyra, but split betwixt ten tribes, each one ferocious and mighty in their own rights. They spoke different languages, worshipped different gods, and lived their lives in simplicity. The one thing these people shared between them, though, was a custom that spanned back into the days that even they could not remember. On the eve of a boy’s transition into manhood, he would ride his family’s wyvern from one edge of their territory to the end and back, returning with a trophy from the border. This would show that he was smart enough to control a wyvern, fast enough to go there and back without being captured, and brave enough to try. This would show that he possessed the qualities of a man.

“These times are long past, now. We are now Almyra, the land that stretches from the southern sea to the northern sea, but our values have not changed. To this day, when a boy is ready to become a man, he must prove, just as his ancestors did before him, that he possesses the qualities of a warrior and of a man. He must travel on wyvern from one end of our territory to the end and back, and bring with him a trophy. He must prove himself before his family and his ancestors.”

Selim stopped and turned to face Melik. He placed both of his hands upon Melik’s bowed head.

“My son, may the wind of the south carry you strong, and may the winds of the north return you fast. Go now, with the blessing of your father and his fathers before him upon your shoulders. You leave a boy, Melik Damad Sultan. Return to us a man.”

Melik rose to his feet and turned his back to his family as the sun broke over the horizon. His retainer brought forth the waiting wyvern. Without looking back once, Melik mounted and kicked his heels into the beast, taking off into the distance. They watched until he disappeared into the sky.

“So,” Selim said, clapping his hands together and turning to face his family, a jovial smile upon his face, “Who wants breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else interested in the Fire Emblem Big Bang?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, still not over the MCR comeback. Did I listen to House of Wolves on repeat while writing this chapter? Yes. Is NaNoWriMo kicking my ass? Yes. Do I regret anything in this chapter? Absolutely not.
> 
> Robin- still proud of you, btw. Enjoy CDTH because MINE STILL HASN’T ARRIVED AND I’M TRYING NOT TO CRY ABOUT IT

Breakfast was an odd affair. King Selim was either a fool or blatantly causing friction, and Byleth could not figure out which. He offered the best cuts of meat to Kerem, the freshest fruit to Clara, and reacted with mild disinterest at best when his other children spoke with him, and at worst he completely ignored the attempts at conversation from Aysu and Kamelya. Byleth watched this go down from her spot at the retainers’ table, doing her best to continue to ignore the venomous looks some of the other shot her, as though it was her fault that the man acted with such flagrant favoritism.

“I heard you bested Rabia in a fight last night,” came the booming voice of Nader from the other end of the table. Despite being a prestigious military commander in his own right, the King had chosen him to act as his retainer for the trip. Byleth didn’t understand the logic behind that, but she was coming to find that there was a lot she didn’t understand about the King. This caught the attention of the other retainers, especially Rabia’s- a shrew like woman called Tanyeli- who seethed at the comment.

“As though someone of her lineage could best Her Highness.” Tanyeli spat. The other retainers said nothing, but seemed to agree.

“Are you referring to my common blood or to my Fodlani origin?” Byleth asked around a mouthful of bread, ignoring the others to lock eyes with Tanyeli as she shoved a piece of hard cheese into her mouth. Tanyeli cringed at her blatant disregard of even the most basic of table etiquette. It was a small victory in Byleth’s eyes.

“With this crowd, who knows.” Nader said, his eyes sparkling with merriment. The gathered group looked as though they wished to say something in retaliation, but remembered themselves last moment. With the exception of Byleth, they were all from minor noble families, which allowed them some measure of respect. But Nader was a great commander, said to be the fiercest fighter in all of Almyra, a hero of legend, not to mention the King’s right hand. To speak against him would be a faux pas that even they could not ignore.

“You must be mistaken,” Tanyeli simpered, fluttering her eyelashes at him. It was a move entirely out of Azra’s books, which looked terribly odd on a member of Rabia’s staff. Nader snorted, then chuckled, then full out laughed at the comment.

“I think not, child,” he turned his grin on Tanyeli, animalistic and vicious, all teeth and no kindness. She flinched back, turning her gaze to her plate of fruit. “No one who could leave a lasting mark on my person could ever be less than terrifying.”

“A mark?” Gasped Dilaver, retainer to Volkan. Nader held up his hand where her bite had indeed left a scar in a small crescent.

“Yes, our little iblis is terrifying indeed.”

Demon, he called her.

As Kerem called her away from the table, she felt that she didn’t mind that nickname.

* * *

She and Kerem spent the second day in their tent, pouring over books and maps. She wasn’t sure where the sudden interest in battle strategy had come from, but it was interesting and as the hours stretched on she found herself taking to it like a duck to water.

“But if we attack from the north,” Kerem said, tracing a finger down the calfskin map, “Then we can take their catapults as well as the river.”

“You’re forgetting that the river flows through the settlement. What happens when they dam it, or poison it?” Byleth asked, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling of the tent.

“Light it on fire, obviously,” Kerem joked, flicking a piece of dirt at her. It hit her square in the center of the top of her head. She shot him a look and he shrugged, flicking a rock at her this time. She caught it and rolled back over, adding it to her growing pile of object that Kerem had sent her way.

“If you light the river on fire, you’ll catch your own armada on fire as well, genius.” She said. “You’d have to be the biggest moron in history to do that.”

“Hey, you never know!” He whined, running a hand through his hair. As it pushed out of his face and back against his head, she couldn’t help but notice how similar it made him look to Melik.

She wondered how he was doing.

She hoped he was ok.

“Ok, so how would you do it then, oh great master tactician?” Kerem teased, breaking her from her reverie. She hummed to herself in thought, looking at the map for a long minute before responding.

“I’d enter from the east. Start with my fliers, shut down the exits to the city, then send in my heavy armored battalions to fortify them. Then you surround the enemy and sweep into the center.” She pointed to each part of the map in turn. Kerem considered this for a moment before sighing.

“Yeah, your idea is better,” he admitted. Byleth allowed herself to feel a swell of pride at his words. Kerem went back to his books, and Byleth went back to reclining on her back, closing her eyes and allowing the sound of the torrential rain outside to lull her into a state of peace.

“When’s your birthday?” Kerem asked her after some time? Byleth lazily cracked an eye open, looking him over once before closing it again.

“The 26th day of the Garland moon, I think.” She told him.

“You think?”

“Birthdays aren’t a big deal when you’re a mercenary. If you’re alive, you’re alive. Why bother quantifying that?”

“Jeralt said that, did he?”

“Mhm.”

They sat in silence for some time more.

“When is yours?” She asked him finally.

“The day after tomorrow.” He replied. She sat up to look at him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She asked. “I would have gotten you a gift?”

“Keep me alive and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

* * *

On the third day the rain let up, and she and Kerem spent the day exploring the area on horseback with Rabia. Unfortunately, Aysu insisted that she bring Tanyeli along as well. The unpleasant woman spent the majority of the trip shooting evil looks at Byleth and Kerem, and almost hissed when Byleth got too close to Rabia. Rabia looked irritated, but Byleth imagined that there wasn’t much she could do.

“Would you like to spar?” She asked Rabia after the stopped for lunch. Rabia shook her head.

“I did not bring any training swords with me,” she explained, her eyes sliding almost imperceptibly toward Tanyeli, who watched the two of them like a hawk from over where the horses had been tied up. “Besides, dueling with swords against a commoner would be…frowned upon.”

Ah. That made sense now.

“Perhaps a duel of another variety, then?” Byleth suggested. Rabia raised a single eyebrow.

“I’m intrigued by your proposition.” Byleth nodded and turned, searching.

“Kerem!” She called out. The boy jerked his head up from his book. “Do you have your bow on you?”

Kerem grinned and grabbed his bow off of his horse, jogging eagerly over to where Byleth and Rabia stood.

“What’s going on?” He asked, looking between the two.

“You and Rabia are going to have a shoot-off.” Byleth explained, gesturing to a lone tree off in the distance. The two siblings shared a look.

“That is acceptable to me.” Rabia said first. Kerem rose to the challenge in her voice with a scheming grin of his own. The three of them traipsed over towards the tree, which unfortunately attracted the attention of Tanyeli, who began jogging after them, a pinched look on her haughty face.

Once they were about ten yards from the tree the group came to a stop. Byleth approached the tree and carved a crude target into the trunk. She walked back to Rabia and Kerem, nodding once at each of them.

“Please,” Kerem said, handing the bow to Rabia, “Ladies first.”

She took the bow from him and selected a single arrow from his quiver. She took her stance and raised the bow, her frame strong and sure. She released the shot and it soared through the air, landing with a thunk directly on the edge of the innermost circle. Tanyeli let out a cheer, applauding Rabia, who handed the bow off to Kerem.

Kerem selected an arrow, and took his own stance. He lined up his shot, and just as he was about to release, Byleth growled and pulled him to the side, causing him to fall back and narrowly miss the stone that had been thrown at his head. She whirled and snarled at Tanyeli, who sneered at her.

“Bitch,” Tanyeli spat. Byleth shivered and lashed her arm out, fist landing squarely and surely with a satisfying crunch on Tanyeli’s nose. Tanyeli began shrieking and howling, clutching at her face.

“Lady Rabia!” She cried. “Look at what has been done to me!”

“What I saw,” Rabia responded coldly, moving aside so Kerem could aim once more, “Was a retainer attempting to strike the son of the King.”

Tanyeli blanched.

Kerem’s arrow struck home, dead center.

“You can walk home.” Rabia told her, turning to walk back towards the horses. “Be glad I don’t have you killed.”

“Thank you for that,” Kerem said to Byleth after the other two women had left.

“Happy Birthday,” she responded.

* * *

Byleth awoke early on the fourth day, the hustle and bustle of preparing for Kerem’s birthday and Melik’s return rousing her from her bedroll before dawn. She assisted where she could- carrying logs for the fire and directing the veritable army of servants that had arrived overnight to help set up for the day. By the time the royal family had all emerged from their tents to eat, there was enough food and gifts to last an entire day.

“You look uncomfortable,” she said to Kerem, who jumped at her sudden appearance. He must have been tired to not notice her approach. He smiled, but it was weak.

“I’ll feel better once Melik is back,” he said, staring off into the distance. “You know, he’s never missed one before. Every birthday, for as long as I can remember.”

“Kerem,” she says quietly, bending down closer to him, “He may not make it back today. We had that awful storm. It may take him until tomorrow to return.”

“No, he’ll be here today.” Kerem said, sure of himself, sure of his brother, his best friend. “He’ll be here.”

But Melik did not come.

All day, Kerem watched the skies. His father gifted him with a flock of wyverns, two new war horses, and a chest filled with precious stones. His mother gave him a new closet of fine silks, a bow made of black wood and matching arrows, and a painting of himself. Nader brought him a new sword, and Volkan and Rabia brought new books. But Kerem kept staring at the sky, watching, waiting.

He stared through breakfast. He stared through the dancers and musicians who came to perform for him. He stared through lunch. He stared through poetry recitations, through gifts and well wishes. He stared and waited and watched the skies, but as hard as he stared, as fervently as he watched, as desperately as he waited, Melik did not come.

“He’ll return tomorrow,” Byleth said as they got ready for bed that night. Kerem said nothing, staring at the ceiling of the tent, lost in his own thoughts. She bit her lip, and then crossed the tent to sit at his bedside, grasping his hand gently in hers. He finally turned to look at her.

“He’ll return tomorrow,” she said once more, “and he’ll apologize and you’ll get to hold this over his head for the rest of your lives.”

Kerem said nothing, and returned to staring.

* * *

The dawn of the fifth and final day broke misty and warm, the kind of morning that promised a hot day the likes of which could only be experienced in southern Almyra. Kerem was no longer the only one visibly affected by Melik’s impending return. Hira and Volkan were attached to their mother like ticks to a hunting dog. Even Selim seemed concerned, which Byleth was coming to see was unusual for him.

“It must have been the storm,” she reassured Kerem for what felt like the thousandth time. The two of them sat outside their tent, watching as the servants and artisans from Kerem’s birthday celebration packed up and left one by one. He still had not said anything, his face tight with worry. Unsure of what to do, how to make him feel better, Byleth slid closer to him, pressing their sides together. He said nothing still, but leaned into her ever so slightly.

At this moment Clara left her tent. She paused for a moment at the sight of the two of them, both silently keeping vigil over the empty sky. Shaking her head, she left the two of them be, going on her way to fulfill her own duties for the day.

Rabia stopped by around mid-day, carrying with her fruit and leftover cuts of meat from the feasts the day before. She sat on the other side of Byleth, pressing up close as well, and the two of them became three, saying nothing, eating and watching the sky with silent worry, growing more insistent each passing minute.

The day passed in silence.

The sun set.

The three of them did not move.

The moon rose.

They watched on.

The sun rose on the sixth day.

A wail arose from the center of camp.

Time was up.

Melik had not returned.

Melik was never seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me in the comments ;)
> 
> And yes, that WAS shade thrown at Chrom


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the Fs in the comments last chapter. Y’all had me howling!! Here’s the next chapter, please enjoy!
> 
> Robin- have fun at con!!

The search for Melik lasted for three weeks. The King had not originally wanted to even send soldiers out to look for him, stating some nonsense about tradition and familial shame, until Volkan had icily reminded his father of the ongoing tensions between Almyra and Fodlan. If Melik had been taken or killed by their neighboring nation, it would be cause for war. So Selim, ever the warmonger, sent out his best troops to search for the missing prince, led by Nader, who had become icily serious since the disappearance.

Byleth remembered the screams from Kamelya when Nader returned, carrying with him the breast band of the wyvern that had carried Melik, dark with blood stains. It was, he had told the King in a quiet, tight voice, the only piece remaining that hadn’t been brutalized beyond recognition. He would not speak of the body.

As Kamelya collapsed to the ground, her howls tearing into the hearts of everyone in the room, Byleth felt a shift in the air as the news sunk in, as the realization hit everyone one by one.

Melik had been killed. And the enemy was still at large.

Eyes immediately flew to herself and Kerem and Clara, and Byleth felt her breath catch. She and Clara were Fodlani, and although Kerem was only half, had never been to Fodlan, and had no connection to that part of his heritage, his blood was just as damned in that moment as theirs. Clara seemed to realize this as the same time, and made desperate, urgent eye contact with Byleth. Their own tensions were momentarily forgotten.

Get my son out of here, Clara seemed to say, get him out and keep him safe.

Kerem was frozen where he stood as Byleth approached. Despite having every right to join his father with the rest of his sibling up on the dais, he had opted instead to watch from the back of the room, hidden in the shadows, and Byleth found herself infinitely grateful for his foresight. He didn’t fight her as she silently ushered him farther into the shadows and behind a tapestry they had discovered that led to a secret passage that wound from the throne room to a closet just outside of the kitchens. Byleth guided the boy from there into the very back of the kitchens, where she had made friends with some of the staff. At the sight of her tugging along a very obviously in shock Kerem they wisely averted their eyes, pretending not to notice as she sat him down on a stool in a corner in the back. One of the braver scullery maids brought over a kettle filled with hot water, some cups, and tea bags, which Byleth took gratefully.

Kerem said nothing as she prepared their tea, staring at the floor below him, his eyes distant as he processed the news, their current situation, and the future. Byleth said nothing as well, quietly handing over a cup of tea when it was done brewing, doing her best not to wrinkle her nose at the sweet-sharp smell of pine tea.

They sat there for hours, drinking tea and watching the kitchen move about, preparing first for lunch, then for dinner. Shifts changed, cooks came and went, servants and maids flurried about, never stopping for more than a moment or two. Nobody bothered them, hidden out of sight as they were, and the few who knew they were there were too loyal to Byleth to say anything.

Always befriend the kitchen staff, her father had once told her.

She missed her father.

She hoped he was doing okay in Fodlan.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Kerem croaked. Byleth looked at him, her lips pressed tightly together. Kerem looked up from the floor, his eyes bright, not with mirth or excitement or laughter or any of the other things she had come to know him for, but with the shine of unshed tears. “He’s dead and I didn’t get to say goodbye.” His voice cracked, and before she could think about it, Byleth was pulling him in, wrapping her arms around him and burying his face in her shirt. Not a moment later she felt him begin to shake as hot tears soaked into her shirt, his arms wrapping around her in turn.

They sat there like that through the end of dinner, past sunset, until the moon was high in the sky and bells began to toll through the palace. The sound clanged through the kitchens, past the stables, out into the streets as an entire city came to a horrified halt at the announcement of a royal death.

The bells rang, and Kerem and Byleth held each other and mourned and braced themselves for what would come next.

* * *

The week between the official announcement of Melik’s death and the funeral cast a dark pallor over the palace and its residents. Servants murmured to themselves as the royal children- the ones who left their rooms, at least- wandered the halls of the palace like ghosts. Kamelya had retreated to her quarters and no one, not her servants, not her two remaining children, not even the King, could coax her out. Even Aysu had mellowed somewhat; it was an odd look for the normally cheerful socialite.

The first time Byleth saw Clara after the announcement, it was apparent she was deeply shaken by the event of the past several days. She had summoned Byleth to her rooms, and the two women sat on chaise lounge in a bright patch of sunlight.

“I’m stopping our lessons for now,” Clara began, folding her finger together. “I can teach you those things any time. Right now, I need you to keep Kerem alive. I want you by his side all day, every day for the foreseeable future. His father and I will be increasing his guards and security but…” She trailed off, leaning back and unfolding her fingers to brush a stray piece of hair behind her ear. In the light, the bags under her eyes became darker and more apparent.

“I can’t lose my son, Byleth,” she said quietly, her voice going hoarse at the thought. “I am an outsider in this land. My son is the only one I have. My husband has his country, his duties, his other children. My servants claim loyalty but I know they will never truly love an outsider, especially a Fodlani. Even my son has his siblings, his friends, you. But me. I have only my son. He is the best thing that ever happened to me, Byleth, and I cannot lose him, do you understand me?” She turned away at the end, but not before Byleth could see the glint of a tear streaking its way down her sculpted cheek.

“I understand,” Byleth said, getting up from her seat. She left the room without looking back, but she wondered if Clara really understood her son as much as she claimed she did.

Besides herself, Kerem didn’t have anyone besides his mother, either. Not really.

* * *

She and Kerem watched the sun set that evening. The funeral would be the next morning. He hadn’t wanted to leave his room, but Byleth had pulled him out of bed and up to the spot on the roof he had showed her- their spot. Curled up next to each other, they watched the moon make its way across the sky.

“I was always envious of him,” Kerem said, finally. Byleth kept watching the sky, but she squeezed his hand to let him know that she was listening. “He was everyone’s favorite. He was funny and cheerful and everyone flocked to him- girls, our other siblings, nobles and commoners. He was everything a prince should be. But more than anything, he was my friend. My first friend. My only friend.” He sighed. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Byleth?”

“No,” she said, watching as a bird flew overhead. “You’re alive until you’re not anymore, and after that it doesn’t matter.”

“Let me guess, your father taught you that?” Kerem asked, his voice dry. Byleth snorted and shook her head.

“I don’t know what my father believes,” she replied. “Death isn’t a thing we talk about.”

“Odd, for mercenaries.”

“Probably. But he always gets weird when I bring up death or religion or things like that. There’s a big religion in Fodlan, but he never let me go to a mass or read any of the books or anything. Told me he wanted me to think for myself instead of becoming another sheep.” That made Kerem laugh, finally. Byleth hadn’t realized how much she had missed the sound until hearing it made her feel as though a small warmth had blossomed in her normally cold and still chest.

“Somehow,” Kerem said, sitting up to look at her, “I don’t think he has to worry about that.”

* * *

The funeral itself was a family-only affair, and even Byleth couldn’t figure out a way to sneak in to watch it. Instead, she went into the city, to wander the markets as the bells from the palace rang in a solemn tune. The entire city was awash in white, the Almyran color of mourning. She herself wore a white tunic and a stolen pair of white pants from the servants’ laundry.

“Looking for a new book, child?” Called out one of the merchants. He was a bookseller, and Byleth had often stopped at his stall in the past to pick up books for herself and Kerem. She waved him off and wandered on, determined not to stop to buy anything today. Instead, she found herself wandering aimlessly, taking the time to explore every corner of the market district. Very quickly she found herself in an alley she hadn’t noticed before- the kind that seemed to only be found when you weren’t looking for it. Curious, she wandered through, carefully noting the vendors, their wares, and the odd lack of a crowd. One stall in particular caught her eye.

“Greetings, friend,” the man said as she approached, “I must say, it is odd to see one of my own people in this land.” He was Fodlani- with light brown hair and blue eyes.

“I agree,” she responded in common Fodlan, the language slipping over her tongue roughly compared to the honey-sweet sounds of Almyran. It felt good, bracing. “I must say I’ve never seen a Fodlani vendor before.”

“Well,” the man shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “After they announced the closing of the border I grabbed as many things as I could and marched myself over here. Figure I’ll make a fast fortune, what with these things not being readily available anymore.” Byleth felt her blood chill.

“What do you mean, the closing of the borders?” She asked, ice creeping through her veins.

“You didn’t hear?” The man asked, obviously confused. “Five days ago the King sent a notice to the leader of the Alliance, stating that no Fodlanis would be welcome in Almyra anymore, and that anyone caught attempting to enter would be executed on sight.”

Byleth felt her breath catch.

“Yeah, awful stuff,” the merchant said, shaking his head. “They’re not letting anything in or out- people, vendors, tourists. I heard that even messenger birds are being shot down on sight.”

Byleth said nothing, but tossed the man a gold coin.

“Stay safe,” was all she said as she turned and walked away. As soon as she turned the corner into the main street she broke into a run, her mind reeling as she did her best not to panic.

The borders were closed.

No one in or out.

Her father was still and Fodlan.

And now, she might never see him again.

* * *

The note was under her door when she returned to her room that night. Clara had had a room in Kerem’s wing cleared out for her, just across the hall from his. He still had not returned, and would be gone until the moon peaked in the sky, as was tradition.

_ Tomorrow evening, one hour past sunset. _ The note read. _ The third door on the left in the library. Knock thrice. Don’t be late. _

_ I have much to speak with you about. _

_ Volkan _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t checked it out yet I posted a 7.5k Claudeleth smut called Point and Shoot. Go check it out if you’re interested in that sort of thing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m uploading this chapter from the floor of Galaxycon Louisville. Anything for y’all. I have purchased so much 3H merch that my wallet has put out a hit on me. Worth it.
> 
> Robin- nothing flowery this week. I’m just grateful for you.

Byleth wasn’t sure what she had expected from meeting with Volkan, but it certainly wasn’t tea and pastries. She glanced down at the proffered tray with mild confusion, glancing back and forth between the prince and the honey glazed treats. In all honesty, they looked delicious, but Byleth tore her eyes away from them and took a seat facing the second prince. The antechamber he had summoned her to was beautifully painted and lined with overstuffed furniture and priceless art, but the air was stale and the shelves dusty and sparse, just as the rest of the library had been. Beautiful, but empty, as though it was intended for show rather than use.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Volkan said after she had taken her seat, pouring a cup of tea for himself. “We have much to discuss.”

“What is it you want?” Byleth asked, her voice as stony as her face. If he took offense to being addressed in such a manner then Volkan didn’t show it outwardly, simply taking a long drink of tea before sighing and crossing his legs.

“My brother is dead,” he said tightly, his voice showing the first bit of emotion she had ever heard from him. “And I feel that he is only the beginning.”

“Explain.” Byleth said. Volkan took another drink of tea before putting his cup down, leaning back into the cushions of the couch he sat on.

“These are not peaceful times.” He said, locking his eyes with hers. “My country and yours have never truly gotten along, not really. True, we have not had actual war with one another in hundreds of years but the tensions remain nonetheless, perpetuated by age old grudges and harmful stereotypes and too much pride on both sides of the border to truly reconcile. Things are not as they could be, should be, but now…” Volkan sighed and combed an elegant hand through his loose hair. “Now I fear the worst. Many believe Fodlan is behind my brother’s death. After all, who else would be so bold as to kill a prince?”

“I can think of many people.” Byleth said, her voice terse.

“We are in agreement there.” Volkan acknowledged, tipping his head at her. “I believe that someone is out to kill the royal family.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Byleth asked.

“Because I have already lost one brother,” Volkan said, leveling a steely gaze at Byleth, “And I do not wish to lose any more. Think of my siblings what you will. Not all of them are good people. But they are my family, and in this place that’s all I have most days. I believe that you can help me, despite my reservations about your background.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Because I’m one of the few allies Kerem has left. Unlike many, I don’t want him dead.”

“Tell me what you want from me.” Byleth said. “And I will consider it.”

And so Volkan told her his plan.

* * *

“You’re late,” Rabia said, tossing a wooden sword to Byleth. She caught it, testing the weight in her hands.

“Your brother can be very long winded,” Byleth replied, setting the sword aside to stretch out her stiff shoulders.

“Next time, just tell Kerem to shut up.” Rabia snorted. Byleth didn’t bother to correct her, instead picking up her sword and taking an opening stance.

The two girls traded blows easily, less intense than their first fight had been. This time, they took the time to watch each other, copy moves and learn footwork. Rabia was fast and technically precise, but Byleth had more real combat experience, leading to a back and forth between the two of questions and demonstrations. It was an odd kind of peace, and Byleth found herself almost having fun in between blows.

She’d never had fun practicing with her father’s men in the past.

Interesting.

By the time they finished, Byleth felt heavy with exhaustion, yet somehow lighter than she had been coming in. It was an odd feeling, but as the two girls sat together in the dirt of the practice arena, tossing a canteen back and forth as they caught their breath Byleth found that she quite enjoyed feeling that way.

“Forgive me if I’m coming on too strong,” Rabia said hesitantly, her face turned towards the door rather than at Byleth, “But I feel as though perhaps… Well…”

“Perhaps what?” Byleth asked, tilting her head.

“Are we… Could we… Would you like to be my friend?” Rabia asked. It was quiet, almost a whisper, the baring of a lonely soul in the night air.

Friends.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Byleth admitted. “But I think that we could be. Friends, that is.”

“I’d like that,” Rabia said, turning to face Byleth with a soft smile on her face. It changed her, that small, simple expression. It made Byleth’s chest warm in a way she had only ever felt around her father and Kerem.

“Me too,” she agreed. And the two stayed there until the moon was high in the sky, basking in the newfound joy of friendship.

* * *

As always, the kitchens were bustling with activity the next morning. Byleth ducked and dodged around harried servants and yelling chefs, making her way back to her favorite corner, stealing a meat stuffed pastry from a passing tray. A few of the maids were waiting in the back by the fireplace, and they waved for her to join them

“Good morning Miss Byleth,” said Verda, the youngest and newest of the group, a scullery maid.

“Did you sleep well, Miss Byleth?” asked Peri, a matronly woman who looked after all of the young maids.

“I did, thank you,” she said, taking a seat close to the fire. She bit into the pastry, sighing happily at the spicy taste. The women giggled at her face.

“Come, child, let me put your hair up,” Peri said, motioning her over. Byleth obliged, scooting over to where Peri was sitting to allow the woman to comb through her hair and arrange it in a way that would keep it from falling into her face. She wasn’t sure how Peri managed it, because every time she tried to do it herself it would end up a mess. She closed her eyes at the soothing feeling, listening as the conversation washed over her.

“Princess Hira had me running all over the market yesterday,” Nehir, a personal maid of Hira’s, complained. “Some rumor about a new tea seller who sells the best floral teas in the kingdom. One of her little friends told her about it, so she just had to have it! Of course, I could find no such seller in the marketplace, which she was none too pleased about.”

“A tea seller?” Verda asked, confusion lacing her voice. “But the palace grows its own tea! Why would she want tea from the market?”

“Don’t ask me!” Nehir exclaimed, exasperated. “All I know is that she wanted a very specific tea brand that nobody had ever heard of before! I mean, have any of you ever heard of Gloucester Jasmine tea?”

“Actually,” Byleth said, cracking open an eye, “I have. It’s a Fodlani tea.”

“Well, that explains why you couldn’t find it,” Peri says, patting Byleth on the head. “Everyone is out of Fodlani product, not that there was much of it in the first place.”

“Actually, Nehir, I think I might know where to get some,” Byleth said, getting to her feet and finishing off the last of her breakfast.

“Oh, Byleth, please let me know if you do!” Nehir said, her eyes pleading. “I would be in your debt!”

Byleth thought of the Fodlani merchant, hidden away in a back alley of the market. Perhaps…

* * *

“I would just like to state that I think this is an awful idea,” Byleth grumbled, watching Kerem trade out his silks for plain cotton, the kind he had been wearing on the day they first met. Byleth herself was dressed in the clothes that Kerem had bought for her from the marketplace on that fateful day. She had been hoping to sneak past him to go run her errand, but the boy had a sixth sense for mischief apparently, and had managed to catch her trying to sneak out of her window.

“Come on, it’ll be fine,” he said, giving her a small smile over his shoulder. It was a tired smile, the kind that warmed his eyes but only just. She hadn’t seen a real smile from him since before Melik’s death. She sighed, and let the subject go. Perhaps some time out of the palace would be good for him.

Once he was done dressing, Byleth moved to go to the window, but Kerem beckoned her over to a different corner of the room, just to the right of his bed. Reaching under a tapestry he pulled a handle, springing open a door in the wall that Byleth hadn’t noticed before.

“Not all of us can climb roofs,” he said at her astonished look. He walked into the passageway, stopping to turn and hold out his hand to her.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s go.”

Byleth took a deep breath, and reached out to grab his hand, warm and sure in her own.

* * *

Byleth had never seen a day in which the markets were not abuzz with activity, and that day was no different. Crowds surged around the two of them, and Byleth was sure that had they not been holding hands they would have been separated by the masses before long. The sun had risen high in the sky by the time she managed to find the alley where she had met the Fodlani dealer just days before. Kerem walked behind her, his curious eyes taking in as many details as they could.

“Hello again, little Fodlani girl.” The merchant greeted as she approached. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again so soon. Missing home that much?”

“As much as anyone else, I suppose,” she said. “I came to ask you something.”

“Ask away, girl. It would do my heart good to help my fellow countryman.” He tilted his head, an eyebrow quirking up at the sight of Kerem peeking out from behind her arm. “First, you must tell me who your companion is.”

“This is Koray,” Byleth said before Kerem could open his mouth and blow their covers. Stars knew he hadn’t thought of a false name for himself when they had met, so she doubted he would remember to give one now. “He’s my friend.”

“Not many around here with green eyes,” the merchant commented.

“My papa from Fodlan,” Kerem said, his accent thick and heavy as though he was learning common Fodlan rather than the master speaker she knew him to be. Good, he had caught on. “But I never go.”

“I’m teaching him about Fodlan,” Byleth said, making steady eye contact with the merchant. There had been many times in her life when she had cursed her inability to emote, but now was one of the times she supposed permanent blank face came in handy.

“I see, I see,” the merchant said. He seemed to have bought their story, relaxing a bit as he gestured to his various goods. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Do you happen to have Gloucester jasmine tea?” Byleth asked. “It’s my favorite, and I can’t seem to find it anywhere these days.”

“Gloucester jasmine tea, you say,” the merchant’s body language shifted, suddenly. He leaned forward, suddenly alert and interested.

“Yes,” Byleth said, meeting his gaze head on, “Gloucester jasmine tea, two boxes.”

“That’s very expensive tea, girl.” The merchant said. “How would you pay for it.”

“I think,” Byleth told him, reaching for a pouch tied to her sash, “That you’ll find the payment you need in here.” She tossed the bag to the man. He opened it, examined the contents, and closed it.

“Payment accepted,” he said, leaning down to pull out two slightly dusty wooden boxes. He handed them to Byleth, and she wrapped them in her sash, taking care to ensure that they were snug against her hip before turning to walk away. Kerem followed, confusion evident in the way he moved behind her. They made it out onto the main roadway before he pounced, intrigue making his eyes bright.

“What just happened, Byleth? What was that? Who was that?” He asked. Byleth pulled him in close, bending down next to his ear.

“You and I just made a deal with someone who can help us,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the crowd for anyone paying too much attention to the two of them.

“What do you mean?” Kerem looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Help us with what?”

“Do you know the problem with arming and closing the borders of a country, Kerem? From a tactical standpoint? One would think that it means greater security, and yes, in some cases it can. But it also means a greater number of unknowns. For example, how do you know for certain that the man you’re entrusting to secure the border is loyal to your cause? How can you be sure he won’t be bought out?”

“You can’t be,” Kerem answered slowly, eyes growing wide as he realized what was going on.

“Exactly,” Byleth said, pulling herself back up to her full height. “That means you and I now have friends on the other side, so to say.”

“So that tea-”

“Oh, it’s tea. Very expensive stuff, to be sure. But it’s what’s inside the tea that matters.”

“Which is?”

Byleth pulled him into an empty alleyway, carefully untying her sash and pulling out the boxes. She slid the lid off of one, digging around through the ground leaves until she found what she was looking for- a silver coin with the stamp of a dragon on it.

“Connections.” She said, handing the coin to Kerem. “Give that to the right person, and you have yourself a favor. The kind that can’t be bought with money.” While he studied the coin she opened the other box, pulling out a second coin. She pocketed that one, then rewrapped the boxes and retied the sash.

“Not to mention,” she said, a sly grin making its way to her face, “It’s a very rare tea that a lot of people want right now. I’m not sure why, it tastes like perfume to me, but I guess there’s no accounting for taste, is there?”

Kerem laughed, and the world seemed brighter for a moment.

* * *

That night she handed the tea off- one box to Nehir, who almost broke into tears upon seeing it, eagerly trading it for a spare set of her uniform. The other box was placed on the center of the table of the third meeting room on the left in the library, attached with a piece of paper that simply said ‘I accept.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TEN! CHAPTER TEN! CHAPTER TEN!
> 
> Real talk though, I rewrote this chapter 3 times. Hope y’all enjoy!
> 
> Robin- your support makes my heart go crying cat picture

The note arrived late one evening, sent by messenger bird. Byleth almost missed it- rainy season had officially begun in Almyra and the steady downpour had drowned out the noise of everything else for the past few weeks. It was a constant, soothing drone, the kind that had lulled the palace and its inhabitants into a sleepy daze, Byleth and Kerem included. The two were curled up in bed, Byleth reading a tome on Almyra folklore, Kerem napping, when she heard the scratching at her window, barely audible over the rain. Curious, she slid out of her bed, careful to not disturb the slumbering prince, and made her way to the closed window. She unlatched it, and the bird hopped in, shaking itself off and spraying her with cold droplets as it held out its leg for her. She retrieved the note, and as soon as it was untied the bird took off once more. Deciding to leave the window open for the time being, she crawled back into bed, burrowing into its warmth. Once she was settled she sliced open the wax seal on the letter with one of the knives she kept strapped to the back of the bed.

_ Little Fodlani Girl. _

_ My time has come to an end here in Almyra. A friend of a friend is helping me to return tomorrow. I have room for one more, should you be interested. _

_ You know where to find me. _

_ -Your favorite merchant _

  
  


Byleth’s hands began to shake as she considered the note. The merchant was leaving. The only other Fodlani she knew besides Clara was leaving Almyra and going back to Fodlan- a dangerous and impossible task with the closed borders. But he had found a way back, found a way home. She could go with him. She could go home. She could find her father.

She missed her father. His absence had left a raw hole in her chest that ached when she thought about him too much. The thought of going home, going back to him, was almost overwhelming. 

Could she?

_ Should she? _

But then Kerem shifted beside her, and Byleth was pulled from her thoughts back into reality. 

_ A mercenary never quits their job _ her father had said to her once. _ Not until the job is done or the money runs out. _Sure, she had a fancy new title, but she was still a mercenary at heart. And her job was not finished and the money had not run out, and as badly as she missed her father she knew she had to do him proud and stick it out until the end, despite her reservations and homesickness.

Byleth stuck the note under her pillow and curled back up next to Kerem. At the very least, she decided as she fell into sleep, she would go say goodbye. After all, she would probably never see the merchant again.

* * *

The rain had let up for the afternoon, it seemed, as Byleth made her way to the merchant’s stall. Small blessings. Gathering her skirts in one hand she left over a large mud puddle, coming to a stop just outside his alleyway. Brushing her skirts back into place she made her way down the alley, only to draw up short when she saw that the merchant’s stall was already gone. The empty space where he had once sat sent a pang of remorse through her, and she wished she had gotten to the market sooner.

“Little girl?” 

Byleth whirled around. Sure enough, standing behind her was the merchant, looking just as confused as she was.

“I’m glad to have caught you,” she breathed out in relief, clutching the envelope in her hands. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“I cannot come with you,” she said, casting her eyes to the ground. “I have work here yet to be done. But if I could ask a boon of you? I have a letter here. For my father. He’s stuck in Fodlan, probably worried about me. I’d just like to assure him that I’m alright, and that I’ll be home when my job is done.” She held out the envelope to him, and the merchant smiled, reaching to take the envelope from her.

“Of course, child. Tell me your father’s name, and I’ll be glad to give it to him should I hear of him.”

“Jeralt Eisner,” she told him. “He should be in Leicester, somewhere.”

The merchant nodded, then held out his hand to her. She shook it, something in the pit of her stomach clenching as he withdrew and turned away from her. He was young and hale, in his early twenties, she would guess. He had strength enough to make it home, despite the dangers. She believed he would be fine. She had to. 

“You know, I’m glad to see you one last time,” he said, shouldering his pack. “After that servant you sent came by to say you would not be going with me, I had assumed you were done with me.”

“Servant?” Byleth’s mind came to a freezing halt. 

“Yes, a servant girl. Hanim, she said her name was?”

Byleth nodded weakly. She knew Hanim. Hanim was a servant in the palace. Hanim was a servant to Kerem. Hanim was one of the few loyal to Kerem. Hanim answered only to Kerem. 

Kerem had tried to interfere in her affairs. 

Rage boiled in her veins as she waved the merchant farewell, standing rigidly still until he disappeared from her sight. Her blood thrummed wildly in her body, every nerve a live wire as she turned to make her way back to the palace. 

People dodged out of her way as she stormed past. Though blinded by her rage as she was, she didn’t notice. 

_ How dare he. _

The words echoed in her mind as she trekked back, a mantra of anger and betrayal swirling a poisonous soup in her stomach the burned at her throat and the corners of her eyes. 

How dare he, how _ dare _he. Kerem had no right to interfere in her affairs, her decisions. He must have found the note in her bed, must have sent Hanim out, must have decided that he, as a prince, as her boss, got to make that decision for her. 

How. Dare. He.

* * *

Kerem wasn’t in his room, wasn’t in the library, wasn’t on the roof, wasn’t in Clara’s suites, wasn’t training, which could only leave one place where he could be. Byleth slammed her door open, her ire having only grown and swelled in the time it took for her to find him. He looked up from the spot on her bed- his spot on her bed- smiling softly at her.

“Hey, you’re back!” he greeted, only for his face to morph into a look of confusion, the fear as she stormed up to him, her anger so strong it managed to show through on her face.

“You had no right!” she spat at him, stopping at the foot of her bed.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, although his innocent act didn’t fool her. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him off the bed and onto the ground, forcing him to stand in front of her. He had grown a little, a few fingers, but she still stood taller than he, and she used her height to lean down into his face.

“You,” she growled, jabbing his chest with her finger, “Don’t get to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said, shrinking under the full force of her wrath. Byleth bared her teeth and leaned in close.

“You want to play the fool? Fine, play your part, little man. I’ll spell it out for you. You had no right to send Hanim to the merchant, to tell him that I wouldn’t go with him, to send him off before I could say goodbye.”

“Byleth, wait-”

“For your information, your highness,” she hissed our his title like it was a dirty word, “He came back. He found me. If you had spoken to me instead of assuming my course of actions you would have known that I was going to deny his offer anyways! I was going to stay, to keep working for you! All I wanted was to say goodbye, Kerem!” She was yelling at this point, but her chest ached and the words kept coming, kept spilling out in a tidal wave of anger and fear that she had kept locked away for so long, for too long. “Maybe you wouldn’t understand, but my father is the only person I’ve ever had! And guess what, Kerem? I may never get to see him again! He could be dead for all I know! So all I wanted was to say goodbye to the one person who may be able to find him, if he hasn’t reached an early grave without me, and tell him that I miss him and that I love him!”

Silence hung over them, thick and heavy as Byleth heaved for breath. Kerem watched her steadily, his eyes never straying from her, even as she turned her face from him to the ground, cursing herself as she flushed with anger, despair, shame. Slowly, she turned away, turned her back to him.

“Why did you do it, Kerem?” she asked, voice hoarse. 

“I didn’t, Byleth,” he said. He reached out, grabbing her shoulder and turning her to face him. She still refused to look at him, so he grabbed her face with his hands and turned it so that she was forced to look at him, to stare into his eyes, bright and honest. “Hanim is on leave to visit her family in the country. She left last night. Yes, I found your note. But I did nothing with it. That was your decision to make, I knew that.”

“What are you saying, Kerem?” she asked, her voice hushed as the room suddenly grew warm, too warm, despite the open window. His hands were warm, but soft. The hands of a prince. The hands of her Kerem.

“I’m saying,” he said, smiling softly at her once more, “That despite my desire to act otherwise, I decided to trust you, to trust that you would return. I didn’t know if you would, but I knew that that was not my decision to make.”

“Of course I returned,” Byleth sniffed, pulling herself away from him to stare at the wall. “I wouldn’t leave yet. We still have work to do.”

Kerem laughed, and it rang through the room like a chime.

“Now,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, “Tell me what this is about Hanim.”

Byleth day next to him and recounted her tale. Kerem sat in silence, listening to her as she told him what the merchant had told her.

“That couldn’t have been Hanim.” He confirmed once more. “She left last night, and she’s too scared of strangers to act out on her own like that.”

“Then who…” Byleth trailed off, her eyes landing on the door to her dressing room. She leapt off the bed, walking over to the room. Once inside, her stomach sank as she discovered that the maid’s clothing she had traded for were rumpled, dirty, and not where she had left them. 

“What’s going on?” Kerem asked from behind her. She pulled him back out into the main room. 

“How many people have access to these quarters?” She asked him. 

“Just us, my mother, our servants. Maybe twenty people in total?” He said, scratching at his chin. Byleth turned to him. As she turned, something moved in the corner of her sights. She leapt for Kerem, slamming him to the ground, covering his body with her own. 

The explosive went off.

Byleth felt a searing heat on her back, and then nothing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool stuff is happening: I’m a writer for two FE3H projects! I’m a writer (and writer mod) for the 3H tarot project and a writer for the FóDLAN fashion zine! Check them out on tumblr and twitter!!
> 
> Edit as of December 1, 2019: HOLY SHIT YALL! WE BROKE 10,000 HITS ON THIS STORY!! I’ll be putting a poll up on my twitter to figure out how y’all wanna celebrate/be thanked!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all voted and the majority chose two new chapters today as my thank you gift to you- my beloved readers- for getting me to 10,000 hits.
> 
> Almost didn’t make it tbh. Yay work emergencies!
> 
> Robin- thank you for a) remaining my friend even after discovering my country music playlist (and subsequently having to listen to Honky Tonk Badonkadonk) and b) not killing me on the spot when I told you my plans for the rest of the first arc of this story.
> 
> You’re a real one.

_ She heard her name being said. It was quiet, muffled, desperate. There was shouting in the distance. Her arm jerked and her world exploded with pain. _

* * *

_ “Byleth, please, I need you to wake up.” A hand touched her face, cool and familiar. _

* * *

_ Her back burned. She screamed. Someone gripped her hand. _

* * *

_ “You cannot sleep forever, child.” Said the voice from her dreams. A girl not much older than she stroked her head, humming a familiar melody. _

* * *

_ The world swam before her. Byleth saw a jug of water, a door. Her head was heavy. She couldn’t move her arms. She sighed, and slept. _

* * *

Byleth gasped as she came to. Early morning light filtered through a nearby window, casting the room with soft blue shadows as she struggled to sit up, heat blooming across her back. Her mind raced, panic setting in. Where was she? Where was Kerem?

“Easy now, Byleth,” came the voice of Clara to her left. Byleth turned her head, doing her best not to wince as her muscles screamed in pain.

“Kerem?” she asked, her voice rough and hoarse. Where was Kerem?

“He’s okay,” Clara said, reaching over to pour a cup of water. She lifted it to Byleth’s lips, and Byleth drank it down as fast as she could. Clara poured her another, and Byleth drank again, slower this time. The room slowly came into focus. It was not a traditional Almyran room. It had wallpaper and wooden floors rather than paint and stone. A window, across from the bed, with a reading seat. Byleth finished her drink and her eyes grew heavy. “My son is okay. Shaken, but alive and only a little scuffed up. You saved his life, Byleth. Thank you.”

“Where…” Byleth mumbled, her head swimming as she fought off sleep once more. The last thing she recalled was…an explosion? She and Kerem had been talking about something, something important, just below the surface of her memory.

“He’s downstairs. I’ll have him come sit with you once he’s awake. Until then, I’ll stay here with you. Sleep now, child.” Clara mumbled, stroking a few stray hairs out of her face. 

Byleth fell to sleep once more.

* * *

The next time she woke, it was slowly, calmly. It was midday, and bird song filtered in through the open window. She sat up in bed, wincing at her still aching back, and rubbed at her eyes. Kerem was sitting in the reading seat in the window, staring at the pine forest outside. The warm afternoon light dappled his face with gold. His hair was loose around his face, freshly washed, curling at the still damp edges.

He looked tired.

“Kerem?” she asked, “What are you doing?”

The boy jumped, startled, whirling to face her, unbridled relief spreading across his weary face.

“Byleth,” he said, “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out?” she asked, watching as he got up from his chair to crawl onto the foot of her bed. “Where are we? What happened?”

Kerem’s face turned stony, cold. She bit her lip as she watched him struggle to find the words. Silently she reached out her hand and took his, squeezing tight as he took a deep, steadying breath.

“It’s been a week,” he finally told her. A week? Her throat tightened. What had happened to her? “We’re at a private estate owned by Nader- just you, me, my mother, and him. The entire family has been split up. You and I weren’t the only ones attacked. All of us were.” He faltered for a moment. “I don’t know if anyone else…”

The thought of more deaths haunting Kerem, his family, made Byleth squeeze his hand once more. Kerem shifted to face her.

“You saved my life, you know.” He said quietly, studying their linked hands. “That explosive would have hit me dead on if you hadn’t shielded me. I could have died. You almost did die, I think. When I came to after the explosion you were on top of me. Protecting me. But there was so much blood, I thought for sure you were dead.” His words came out choked at the end, and Byleth felt her chest squeeze painfully tight.

“But I didn’t die,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could manage. This was no time to be dealing with the rising feeling of panic in her throat, so she shoved it down as best she could and put on her best no-nonsense face. It wasn’t much different from her normal face, but Kerem had known her long enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You didn’t,” he acknowledged, slowly nodding his head. “My mother came to find us. The entire palace was in an uproar, as you can imagine. Everyone was fleeing, but my mother came to find us. You were almost dead though. I could see it in her eyes, her face. She wanted to leave you there, take me and run.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“What?” Kerem’s voice was sharp, his tone disbelieving.

“Why didn’t you leave me there?” she asked once more. “You were in danger. You should have left me for dead. Staying could have gotten you killed, Kerem.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, “But I couldn’t let you die, Byleth.”

“And why not?”

“Because I need you, okay?” He snapped, turning away from her. Although he hid his face, Byleth could see that the tips of his ears had flushed red. Interesting. “You’re going to help me with my plans, right? You can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“Maybe not,” she replied softly, “But don’t forget that your life is important, too, okay?”

At this, Kerem turned back to her, a look of awe flashing across his face for a brief moment before his normal mask returned.

“Right, yeah. Anyways,” he hurried the conversation along, “When my mother realized I wouldn’t leave you, she…”

“She?”

“She healed you. With magic.” Kerem looked troubled by this.

“Is that such a big deal?” Byleth asked. Magic was not incredibly common, but she had seen enough of it in Fodlan to know that it could be done.

“Magic is rare in Almyra,” he told her. “Many believe it to be useless, weakness. True strength comes from the ability to wield a weapon or ride a wyvern, not from words spoken from a tome. To be honest, I didn’t know that she could use magic. But she did. She put her hands on your back and spoke in a language I’d never heard before and then your back started glowing. She almost collapsed when she was done- Nader had to help carry her out of my room- but she managed to seal your wounds and ease some of the burns.”

“Some of the burns?”

“The worst of them, yeah. But there was a lot. Your entire back was destroyed. My mother said that it would be best to let the less serious ones heal naturally. You’ll probably have the scars for the rest of your life.”

“Ah.” Well, that would explain the current aching of her back. “So what happened after that?”

“Nader got us onto a wyvern and flew us out here to this estate. It belongs to him on paper, but it’s a safe house for my mother and I. Each of the wives has one. A gift and a precaution from my father in equal measures, you could say. We’ve been here for a week. I don’t know when we’ll be going home, so we’re stuck out here for now.”

Byleth took a deep breath and laid back further into the veritable mound of pillows on her bed, doing her best to ignore the stinging heat on her back. So she had almost died. She had known that death would come for her eventually. She had seen death, before. One of her father’s men had died after a skirmish with some bandits gone south. She had always expected to die like he had- on the battlefield, sword in hand. That was how most mercenaries died, if not from disease or too much liquor.

Kerem had thrown a wrench in that plan, it seemed.

Now, she faced danger from all angles. Poison, explosions, perhaps a knife in her back while she slept, if an assassin managed to make it into her room unnoticed while she slept.

Wait.

Her room.

“Kerem, you said that explosives went after all of the children, right?” she asked.

“According to Nader, yes. He’s flown back and forth from the palace twice since we’ve gotten here. An explosive in each room.”

“But Kerem, you were in my room,” she breathed, her mind racing at the implication. “That means-”

Kerem froze, realization spreading across his face.

“Whoever is behind this would have had to know that I was in your room. They would have had to know we were that close. That I was waiting for you.” His eyes flew wide, and he leapt off of the bed. “Byleth, do you think that…”

“That whoever stole my servant’s garb was behind the explosive?” she asked, her pulse racing, her breath almost coming too fast. For a moment, the pain in her back disappeared, and then returned in full force as the two came to the same, terrible conclusion.

“And likely behind every other incident,” Kerem concluded. “Whoever it was, they tried to kill me. And I’d bet good money that they are the ones behind Melik’s death too.”

* * *

Clara returned to Byleth’s room that evening. If she noticed the serious atmosphere between the two children then she chose not to comment on it, shooing Kerem out of the room so that she could help Byleth to the bathing chambers.

“You should wash up, first,” Clara told her, unwinding the bandages that wrapped around Byleth’s torso. “Then I’ll put more salve on and rewrap you, ok?” Clara hesitated before leaving, chewing on her lower lip as she wavered in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?” Byleth asked, choosing to stare at the bathing tub instead of at Clara.

“No, just…” Clara sighed. “This may sound like an odd question to you, but please, indulge my curiosity for a moment. Who is your mother, child?”

“My mother?” Byleth pondered the word in her mind for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. She died giving birth to me. My father doesn’t speak of her.”

“Ah, I see.” Saying nothing more, Clara left the chamber. Byleth rolled her shoulders and stepped into the tub.

The water was cool as it slipped over her heated back, and she sighed in relief as it soothed her skin. Doing her best not to move too aggressively, as Clara had instructed, she quickly washed herself, a week’s worth of grime washing away under her careful ministrations. Clara had taken care of her back, but everything else was left alone.

There was still soot under her fingernails.

She took her time in the tub, leaving only when the water had turned grey and her fingers pruned. She sat herself in front of the floor length looking glass and slowly began brushing the knots out of her hair, wincing as her back began to throb with the movement. She turned herself as best she could to look at the burns left on her back. They spread from her shoulders to her mid back, carmine splotches already peeling and scarring in knobby patches. She wrinkled her nose at the sight and rearranged herself in a more comfortable position. What a nuisance. That would make training difficult for some time.

“Clara,” she called, “I’m ready for you.”

Byleth put down the brush she was holding, and saw a flash of green in the mirror. She turned, expecting to see Clara, but the room was still empty except for her.

How odd.

Clara walked in a moment later, her dress a beautiful shade of dark blue. Not green. Byleth frowned, wondering what she had seen. Nothing else in the bathing chamber was green. Perhaps she had been imagining it.

Clara clucked over the state of Byleth’s hair, picking up the brush and working through the last of the knots, brushing over and over until Byleth’s hair was smooth and soft. It was a nice feeling, soothing in a way that was unfamiliar to Byleth, but appreciated nonetheless. Once Clara finished with that, she spread a cooling salve across Byleth’s back and rewrapped it in fresh, clean bandages. Her movements were clinical, methodical, those of a woman used to dealing with injuries. Odd, for a noble woman, but as Byleth felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her she found that she didn’t quite care. Let Clara have her secrets, so long as they didn’t harm Kerem.

Once Clara finished she helped Byleth redress and make her way back to the bed. Curling up on her side, Byleth yawned and closed her eyes, falling to sleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto the next chapter!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have one of those moments where you zone out for an hour and when you resurface you’ve somehow managed to write 2k in a single sitting? Yeah that’s what happened here. Shoutout to whatever writing spirit took over my body. Hope you enjoyed your stay and sorry about the joint pain.
> 
> Robin- you make the good great

It was a week before Byleth was able to go a full day without napping, and another week before Clara allowed her to leave her room to explore the manor in which they were staying. Her back was still healing, so she was not allowed to train or run or go outside for long periods of time, but Byleth had grown restless in her confinement, so even being allowed to go to the kitchen to fetch her own water was a refreshing change of pace. Her bandages still had to be changed daily, but the less severe burns had faded into scars, strangely smooth to the touch.

Nader was frequently in and out of the manor, running messages and errands, helping track down leads as to who could have been responsible for the explosions. He confirmed that none of the children died in the attacks, but that the guards nearby had all been found with knives in their throats and backs.

“They must have been killed before the explosives detonated,” Kerem deduced one evening as they sat by the fire, mugs of stew in hand. “Whoever set off the explosives would have known that the guards would set off an alarm if they were spotted.”

“Which means that whoever set off the explosives wouldn’t have blended in. Wouldn’t have been able to enter the wings unannounced,” she pointed out, taking a long sip of broth.

“Multiple guards were killed. All of the siblings were attacked at once.” Kerem sighed, putting his mug down. A look of defeat crept into the corners of his eyes as Byleth nodded in solemn agreement.

“That means whoever is after you has allies,” she said. “Allies that wouldn’t mind having you dead. But why go after all of the siblings at once? Why not just you?”

“I don’t know,” Kerem admitted.

* * *

A month after the explosion, when her back was healed and her energy levels were back to normal, Clara finally gave Byleth permission to train again.

The air was cool outside, Almyra’s version of winter fast approaching. Byleth grabbed a practice sword that Nader had acquired for her and ran into the forest, the crisp air and blood pumping through her veins hotly making her feel alive in a way that she hadn’t since she had awoken in their new abode. Kerem ran after her, his own wooden sword strapped to his back, knocking against him as he did his best to keep up with Byleth’s exuberant run.

“Slow down!” he called to her, half in jest. “Wait for me!”

“Never!” she crowed, her joy welling up inside her chest into a fountain of energy that gave her a burst of excitement, enough to force a laugh from her heaving chest. The sound of it rang through the trees like the pealing of bells, bright and pure. She turned to Kerem, a rare smile dancing across her face. “Keep up, Kerem!”

An odd look flashed across his features, disappearing too fast for her to register it before it was already gone. Instead, he joined in with her laughter, chasing after her until they reached a suitable clearing to spar.

“How,” Kerem panted, bent over at the waist, “Are you not out of breath?”

“Good stamina, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. She jogged her way over to the other side of the clearing, stretching and warming herself up while Kerem caught his breath.

It was good to hold a sword again, even if it was carved from wood rather than steel. The weight was familiar in her hands. Swinging the sword in a simple slash somehow felt like coming home.

She remembered, suddenly, the first time her father had allowed her to pick up a sword. He had held off for as long as he could, claiming he didn’t want his only child to walk the same path as he did, a path of violence and bloodshed. But she had worn him down, convinced him to at least teach her how to protect herself.

She had been young, barely reaching his hip when he had given her her dagger. He had shown her first how to care for it, how to clean and sharpen it. He made her work through forms with it, defensive maneuvers first, the kind that would allow her to make a quick escape. Then, slowly, how to fight back. Step by step he had walked her through how to use her size and speed to her advantage, how to dodge an arrow, how to sense an incoming magical attack. How to use her enemies’ weaknesses against them. How to survive, how to tip the scales in her favor when she was outmatched in a fight, how to fight dirty.

She wondered when she would see her father again. When they would train side by side once more. Would he be proud of her, for protecting what she cared for? She wondered how he would react to her scars.Would he be disappointed that she had gotten herself injured?

She couldn’t say.

She hoped he was still alive, at the very least, and that he wouldn’t be too upset that she had lost her dagger in the explosion. They were replaceable, after all.

“Are you ready to begin?” Kerem asked her from across the clearing. Giving herself a shake, she nodded, and ran at him, sword raised. He yelped and just barely managed to dodge her, and their sparring began.

Fighting Kerem was different than fighting her father, than fighting Rabia. He was clumsier, more unsure of himself with the blade. More than once Byleth found herself redirecting her swing at the last moment so as not to accidentally injure him too badly. Soon, much sooner than anticipated, if she was being totally honest, she called the match, looking over Kerem with a critical eye.

“Where did you learn how to fight with a sword?” she asked him.

“Nader,” he replied sheepishly.

“From now on, I’ll teach you how to use one,” she told him, her tone brokering no argument. “I don’t know what he’s been showing you, but you’re lucky you haven’t seriously injured yourself yet. Now, let’s start with the basics- do you know how to clean a sword?”

* * *

Despite Kerem’s inability to wield a sword, he was a masterful marksman. Byleth watched from a distance with Nader as he calmly lined up shot after shot, his aim steady and true. Despite the misty morning, Kerem landed his shots easily, moving from tree to tree, until he had shot an arrow into the bullseye of each target she and Nader had set up. 

“Why is he so focused on learning the sword when his talent clearly lies elsewhere?” Byleth asked Nader, her eyes never leaving Kerem. He took out his next quiver of arrows and lined up his next shot.

“Tradition,” Nader grunted. Kerem missed his first arrow by a hair. He cursed and moved on to the target. “The kings of the Sultan line have always been great swordsmen. Archers have their place in warfare, but it is not on the front lines. Kings must be able to stand and fight on the front lines with their men. Archers are strong, yes, but swords are stronger, and a King must be the strongest of them all.”

“Tradition, legacy, strength. That’s all I ever hear about, it feels like.” she mused. Kerem missed the second arrow as well. Nader chuckled.

“You aren’t wrong, little demon girl. In many ways, it was these concepts that made the cornerstone upon which Almyra was built.”

“Even cornerstones eventually crumble,” Byleth said solemnly as Kerem lined up another shot. Once more the arrow failed to hit his target, to bisect the original arrow. “And then what will be left when that structure comes falling down?”

“Perhaps you and I shall find out,” Nader said grimly. “Though I hope that day doesn’t come to pass. Not in my life or yours.”

They said nothing more as they stood there, watching and waiting, until the sun was high in the sky and the mist long cleared, for Kerem to strike his target.

* * *

“What about Hulusi?” Byleth asked, looking at the notes that Kerem was scribbling down.

“Nader said he was in a meeting with the King when it happened,” Kerem said, crossing the name off of their list. “He’s too content with his current position to try and incite anything, too.”

“Yes, but he’s also in the pay of a nobleman from the eastern reaches.” Byleth told him, tapping her fingers in a steady rhythm against the solid wood desk. “Didn’t you say that were rumors of rebellions in villages out there?”

“Those rumors turned out to be baseless.” Kerem shook his head. “Temel?”

“Unaccounted for, but according to Peri he’s head over heels in love with Hira. He’d never be a part of anything that could harm her,” she said. Kerem grunted and crossed him off as well.

“Children?” Clara’s voice called from the hallway. “It’s getting dark. I’m putting the fires out, so get to bed.”

Byleth and Kerem groaned, but began cleaning up their lists nonetheless. Their list of suspects, once only twenty names long, had ballooned into one of several hundred possible killers, all with motive aplenty. Servants, military officials, nobles, advisors. No stone was being left unturned, but their lack of progress was beginning to feel disheartening.

They made their way up to their respective rooms, nodding goodnight to each other before closing their doors. Byleth sat on her bed, counting the minutes as they passed until she slowly began to feel sleep creeping up on her. Lying down, she felt an odd sense of panic begin to stir in her chest. Sometimes, she had discovered, sleeping made her nervous these days. She supposed that was only a natural side effect of discovering one had been asleep for a week straight, but the fear had crept up on her and into her chest nonetheless. Well, there was only one thing that would alleviate this.

She got off the bed and made her way to the window, slowly pushing it open so that it wouldn’t creak too loudly. Then, with balance she wasn’t sure when she had honed but was thankful for nonetheless, she stood on the window ledge, sparing a quick look at the ground three stories below, before launching herself onto a nearby tree branch. She grasped the limb with her arms and legs as she fell, slowly rearranging herself until she was laying on the top of the branch rather than hanging from it. Once she was settled, she began crawling from limb to limb, moving slowly and quietly so as not to alert the newly arrived guard that she was sneaking around at night, as they were sure to report that to Clara. Once she reached her destination, she grabbed a small stone from her pocket and tossed it at the window, waiting with bated breath until finally Kerem opened the window.

“Can’t sleep again?” he whispered into the night air.

“Yeah,” she responded, making her way towards a sturdier part of the branch she was balanced on. He moved away from the window, and Byleth sprang in, tucking into a neat roll as she landed as gently as she could inside of his room. Kerem held his hand out for her and helped her to her feet, guiding her over to his bed. She nodded to him once more before crawling in, the quiet sounds of his breathing quickly lulling her to a peaceful sleep.

She couldn’t explain it, but she always slept better when she was with him.

* * *

There letter arrived for Clara and Kerem the next morning. The two of them, Byleth, and Nader were sitting at the table eating breakfast when the messenger arrived, bearing a letter he claimed to be of utmost importance. Clara and Nader left the room, leaving Kerem and Byleth to sit in silence as they strained to hear the conversation being had in the next room over.

“I can’t hear anything,” Kerem finally said. Byleth sighed and nodded her head in agreement.

“They’re too quiet. I wonder what-”

The door to the dining room burst open and Clara hurried in, looking infuriated. She stormed past the table and out through the other set of doors and into the hall. A moment later Nader came in, rubbing his eyes wearily.

“What was that about?” Byleth asked bluntly, spearing a piece of meat with her fork.

“The King has summoned us all back to the palace,” Nader explained. “Everyone except Clara. He wants her to stay here for now, say it’s too dangerous for her.”

Byleth and Kerem shared a look. It was time to go home, it seemed.

It was time to catch the killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop!! Aight, back to my regular posting schedule. So? Who do y’all think the killer is now?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to start keeping a record of where I’m uploading these chapters from because I’m at a minor league hockey game right now, uploading it in the bathroom. Here’s hoping it goes through.
> 
> Robin- it’s floating time

Kerem, Nader, and Byleth returned to the palace two days after the new year. What had originally been less than a day’s flight on a wyvern had become a week long procession on horseback. Kerem had muttered crossly about theatrics but had smiled and waved to the citizens of Almyra they rode past nonetheless. Some of them waved back, excitement on their faces upon seeing the young prince. Some did not, standing in the back of the crowd, distrust smeared across their faces as clear as the skies above. If Byleth scooted closer in the saddle to Kerem- because for whatever reason she still was not allowed to ride by herself, so she was stuck riding behind either Kerem or Nader for the entire ride back- then nobody commented on it. That was nothing new, though.

What was new was the fact that people seemed to recognize her as they passed.

“Iblis,” they’d whisper and point at her, looking on with awe or fear or sometimes both. “Demon.”

“How do they know who I am?” she had asked Kerem, leaning in to whisper in his ear as they paraded entirely too slow for her liking through a small town just a day’s ride from Kral Şehri. She eyed the crowd wearily. Being this close to the Kral Şehri, to the palace, to the place Kerem had almost lost his life and she hers, was making her skin crawl in trepidation.

“I don’t know,” he answered, waving lazily, his prince’s smile plastered onto his face. “Perhaps Nader would know?”

They slept at the town inn that night, Byleth taking first watch outside of Kerem’s door. Nader had disappeared into the town before she had been able to ask him. Her lower back was growing stiff, so she shifted, stretching out her legs before returning to her original seated position outside of the sleeping prince’s door. A small gasp caught her attention and she quirked an eyebrow as a small girl hid behind an opened door down the hall.

“Are you okay?” Byleth asked, cocking her head to the side. Slowly, cautiously, the girl peered around the edge of the door. She was young, maybe about seven or eight, with dark, curly hair and big eyes.

“You’re the Demon,” the girl whispered, her voice shaking. “The Ash Demon.”

“Ash Demon?” Byleth quirked an eyebrow. That was new. The girl nodded fervently.

“Yes. I heard that you caught fire and burned to ash but that your will to protect the prince was so strong that the ash came back together to reform you,” the girl said in a matter of fact manner that only young children possessed. Byleth hummed.

“Well,” Byleth rolled the word around her mouth for a long moment, “It’s true that I caught fire while protecting the prince. Would you like to see?” she asked the girl. The girl’s eyes blew wide and she scurried forward eagerly, all traces of her fear from earlier gone.

“Yes, please,” she said, taking a seat in front of Byleth. Byleth gave the hallway one last cursory glance before turning her back to the child, and lowering the collar of her tunic far enough so that her burn scars peeked out. The girl gasped, a sound of wonder rather than horror.

“My papa says that there is no greater honor than earning a scar,” she said, her voice hushed in the quiet of the hall. Byleth pulled her tunic back into place and turned around once more. “He says that only true warriors have them. Like me!”

“Like you?”

“Yeah, see?” The girl showed Byleth her arm, where a small scar marred the skin near her elbow. “I fell out of a tree and hurt myself. But warriors get scars, so I think I’m gonna be a great warrior someday.”

“I think you’ll make a fine warrior,” Byleth agreed, her voice warm as the girl’s face turned awestruck, then excited.

“I’m gonna be the best warrior in Almyra,” the girl said solemnly, “Because the Ash Demon said so.” Before Byleth could say anything more, the girl ran off, the sound of giggles floating down the hall.

* * *

When Nader motioned for Byleth to mount behind him the next morning, she narrowed her eyes at him, getting up on Kerem’s horse instead.

“If you think for a single moment that I will allow myself to be more than five feet away from Kerem at all times from now on, you are a greater fool than you look,” she told him, looking ahead at the road instead of Nader. The man sighed and kicked his horse forwards, shaking his head. Kerem chuckled and adjusted his seat before kicking his own mount into a canter as well. Byleth gripped him tightly, leaning into his back as they raced along, her thoughts whirring as they made their way back to the palace.

She thought of Kerem’s siblings. How hurt had they been, she wondered. Were their rooms destroyed as well? Had the rooms been rebuilt, restored? Where would they sleep, if not? Was Rabia okay? She had missed her friend while they had been holed up in the manor for those long months, healing and regrouping. Perhaps they would get to spar again soon. Her thoughts drifted once more.

And then.

And then.

Realization struck.

Byleth’s arms tightened around Kerem, sudden and harsh as she gasped, the truth of the matter, the realization of what she had been missing, been too blind to see, struck her like a shock of lightning.

“Kerem,” she whispered, her voice tremulous, “I know who’s behind the attacks.”

Kerem began to pull their horse to a stop, but Byleth shook her head and kicked it forward again, though in a walk rather than the canter they had been traveling at. Nader slowed with them, although he didn’t approach to ask why.

“We need to talk about this,” he hissed, his body rigid and tense against her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his back.

“We will,” she promised him. “Later. Once we’re safe and surrounded by allies again.” Kerem sighed, but didn’t argue. Byleth took one last deep breath, breathing in the smell of Kerem- pine and spices- before nudging him to kick their horse back up into a canter.

* * *

Volkan was waiting for them as they arrived in the palace courtyard. Several others- servants, mostly- stood around, watching as the youngest prince of Almyra and his loyal retainer made their triumphant return, hale and whole despite the best efforts of their enemies. As they handed the horse off to a waiting stable hand Volkan approached.

Physically, he looked no worse for wear than he had been before the attacks. Still the same long, loose hair, arched brows, and delicate, ink stained hands. But his eyes were dark, solemn, tired.

“Welcome home, Prince Kerem,” Volkan greeted, ignoring Byleth altogether.

“Prince Volkan,” Kerem greeted in return, “I was not expecting a greeting party.”

“Our father has insisted that I show you to your new quarters,” Volkan responded, turning and walking away. Kerem and Byleth followed after him silently, winding their way through the hall of Ejder Palace until they reached a heavily guarded wing on the southern end. Leading the way through, Volkan stopped in front of a set of gilded double door.

“These are your new lodgings, Prince Kerem. All of the royal family is now lodged in this wing.” He said as he opened the doors to show off the room. It was just as spacious and large as Kerem’s previous room, but something about it put Byleth on edge.

“All of the family?” Kerem asked as he inspected his room.

“Yes, all of the family.” Volkan confirmed. He motioned to a sitting area on the far side of the room. The three made their way over, Byleth taking a seat next to Kerem. “Our fool of a father thought it would be best to have everyone close.”

“So it’s a trap,” Byleth snarled, a wave of fury washing through her. “And he’s using his own children as bait.”

“Yes,” Volkan said, his voice tight with anger. “There are many things our father cares for, but foremost among them is his lineage. His ideals. So long as he has at least one child left to carry on the Sultan line, he doesn’t care what happens to the rest of us. We are simply pawns in his game. So he set a fool’s trap, thinking that this would be the best way to capture our attempted killer, not caring who he takes with him so long as the perpetrator is caught.”

“He’s always been that way,” Kerem said, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as his face grew cloudy. “I am sure he cares for us in his own way. But the only person my father has ever cared about is himself and my mother. Not me, not his other consorts, not his other children, not his servant, his allies, his citizens.” Kerem paused for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. “And now he has gone too far. More of us will die if this continues.”

“I agree,” Volkan said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat. “So what do we do about it?”

“Actually,” Byleth interjected, looking at Kerem, then Volkan, then around at the room, cataloguing and planning, “I have an idea.”

* * *

Rabia’s hands were burned. Byleth had run into her on her way out of the royal family’s new wing, the overwhelming relief of seeing for herself that her friend was alive and mostly well.

“Did they hurt?” Byleth asked, cradling one of Rabia’s hands in her own. Rabia said nothing for several moments, simply watching as Byleth’s hands gently traced over the burn scars.

“Yes,” she finally responded, quiet in her honesty. “I have not been able to wield a sword since. The pain becomes overwhelming too quickly.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Byleth thought of the leftover salve gifted to her by Clara, stored in a leather knapsack amongst Kerem’s luggage. Rabia laughed bitterly.

“Even if there was I am sure that I would be forbidden from it. Perhaps this fate telling me that it is time to let go of the foolish dreams of my girlhood. Of being a warrior, a general in my father’s army. I am sure that my mother has already begun forming a list of suitors that wouldn’t mind a mildly deformed bride.” Rabia clenched her hands into fists for a brief moment before wincing and relaxing them once more. She turned her face from Byleth, her voice turning thick. “I am sure you don’t wish to continue our friendship now that I am useless.”

Byleth reacted before she could think about it, reaching out to pull Rabia into her arms, holding her close and squeezing tightly as she could. Rabia stood stock still, frozen as Byleth poured all of the emotion she felt that she couldn’t express into the hug. Finally, finally, Rabia relaxed and slowly, shakily, wrapped her own arms around Byleth in turn.

“You are not useless,” Byleth whispered to her friend, her voice strong and steady with conviction. “You are more than just your ability to fight. If you wish to follow fate’s path then so be it. But if you decide to rebel, to challenge the road laid out for you by those who choose not to know who you are and who you could become, then know this- I will follow you and fight for you and I will never, never, never stop being your friend.”

And so Byleth held her friend as she shook with unshed tears, mourning the loss of what they once had, and swearing to herself that no matter what would come next, she would protect those who mattered most to her- herself, her father, Kerem, and Rabia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Claudeleth oneshot coming out this weekend, watch for that


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this from my phone because my dog is asleep on me so I’m not allowed to get up and go to my computer. My apologies for any weird formatting.
> 
> Robin- my wolves are on their way to your wolves to say that you’re the best beta ever

“No, absolutely not,” Byleth said, narrowing her eyes in disapproval at Kerem.

“But it’s tradition!” he protested, adjusting his colorful sash. The pattern was momentarily distracting, the reds and yellows and greens swirling together in admittedly eye catching way. Paired with tan silk trousers, polished boots, and a white shirt, Kerem painted a handsome picture. He slid on a yellow and gold embroidered vest, and posed dramatically for Byleth.

“Fine, it looks good on you,” she admitted. “But I’m not wearing the dress. This is a critical moment in our plan, and if things go south then I need to be able to defend you. Which is hard to do in a skirt.”

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you aren’t in a dress!” Kerem argued, gesturing to the pile of floral printed fabric that lay on his bed. Byleth scrunched her nose at the thought of wearing it, opening her mouth to argue against it once more when a loud crash sounded from the hall. She and Kerem froze, locking eyes before running for the door, pressing their ears against it as they tried to hear what was happening in the hall outside.

“It’s not fair, mother!” came the wail from down the hall. There was some more incoherent screaming and crying, followed by another loud crash. “I want to go to the festival!”

“Azra, please,” Aysu pleaded with her irate daughter, “You know you can’t. None of us are going this year. The wedding is only two weeks away! If anything were to happen-”

“But I want to go!” Azra sobbed. There was a quieter, hurried conversation, then the sounds of doors slamming, and then silence once more. Byleth and Kerem moved away from the door, taking a seat at the end of Kerem’s bed.

Byleth had learned many things since the room swap had happened. Over the past month she had come to discover many interesting details about the other wives, princesses, princes. Hira had a horrid singing voice, Erhan was terribly unfaithful to his wife, Azra was whiny. Kamelya was still mourning her son. Every day came more facts and information, some useful, some not.

“We planned for that, right?” she asked Kerem under her breath. He thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Don’t worry, Byleth, we planned for everything,” he assured her. Byleth hummed. He was right, they had planned for everything.

And soon, everything would be over.

* * *

The festival was loud, crowded, and smelled of meat.

Byleth loved it.

It had been entirely too easy to sneak out of the palace. The rest of the royal family was busy preparing for Azra’s wedding to attend the festival. Kerem was supposed to be busy too, but when Rabia had heard that Byleth had never been to a festival in her time in Almyra she had offered to take on Kerem’s duties for the day so that they could attend.

Byleth ducked under the flailing arms of a dancer as they passed by, her own dress billowing in the wind. It was a beautiful thing, she had to admit, even if impractical. The dress itself was a bright yellow, printed with red roses, coming to rest just over the tops of her yellow embroidered slippers. A green sleeveless robe, printed with more flowers and ferns went over the dress, tied in place around her waist with an embroidered apron and a purple sash. Her blue hair was neatly braided and tucked underneath a bright orange scarf.

“It looks good on you,” Kerem had said as they left, an odd look in his eyes that Byleth once again couldn’t place. He had been getting that look quite frequently since she had saved his life.

She wondered what it meant.

Lost in thought, she almost didn’t move out of the way in time as another festival goer moved through. Kerem grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the way just in time, unbalancing her and sending her toppling into him. She managed to catch herself on his shoulders, just moments before their foreheads would have collided. They stood like that, face to face, eye to eye, for a long moment.

Kerem’s eyes had a ring of gold around the edges of his pupils.

Suddenly Kerem pulled away, his face bright red. Ah, perhaps she had been staring too long. He cleared his throat and started walking towards the center of the festival, where there was sure to be more music and dancing. He stopped a few steps away, turning to hold out his hand for her. Byleth reached for it, and they ran.

* * *

Byleth had never thought much of dancing until she saw the sword dancer. A woman dressed in nothing but her chest wrap and a simple, beaded skirt stood on the stage as the musicians struck up a slow, deep tune. She pulled a sword from the sheath on her back. The crowd cheered as a man joined her on stage, and Byleth watched with bated breath as he tied a blindfold around her eyes, leaving her sightless as the drums kicked in and she began to dance.

The way the dancer moved was far different than the stuffy court dances she had seen in Fodlan. The woman moved like a warrior, all muscle and sharp lines, her abdomen rippling as she twirled and stepped, shaking her body back and forth and around the sword, like it was a natural extension of her own body. Backwards, forwards, the swordswoman spun, balancing it on her head as she moved, the sword never falling from its perch as she gyrated across the stage. At one point, she stood on one foot, bending forward and shimmying in a way that made Kerem blush and look away, but Byleth looked on, fascinated by the sword’s stillness on her head.

The drums sped up, the music growing faster and more intense as the woman danced faster, harder, grabbing the sword off of her head as she twirled it around her body with the grace of a professional. Faster and faster she went, until Byleth could no longer keep track of her feet, spinning and flowing like a snake in the water until with a crash of cymbals she came to a stop, tossing the sword high in the air and, still blindfolded, spun in a single circle, catching it over her head as it came back down, then falling to her free hand and knees into a final, victorious crouch.

The crowd went wild, raucous cheers erupting from every direction as the woman got back up, bowing once, twice, three times before exiting the stage. Byleth turned to Kerem, breathless with excitement.

“I want to learn how to do that,” she told him. Kerem’s ears turned red once more, and he looked away from her.

Odd.

* * *

Byleth thought about the performance some more as she wolfed down the food that Kerem had brought her. The food was steaming hot and expertly spiced- some sort of meat roasted with vegetables and wrapped in a flattened bread, smothered in a sweet, milky sauce. She and Kerem sat side by side against the side of a building, eating in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Byleth replayed the performance in her mind once more. The way that woman had moved- there was no way that she didn’t have sword training along with dancer’s training. Her moves were too fluid, too comfortable with the heavy, metal sword in her hands to have been an amateur with the sword. In many ways it reminded her of Rabia’s style of fighting, with its fluidity and delicate steps.

Maybe Rabia would teach her how to move like that. She would have to bring it up the next time they trained together.

“Thanks for going to this with me,” Kerem said, breaking the silence. “I’ve only ever gone with my family before.”

“Is it different, going with your family?” she asked, watching him carefully. He took a bite of his food, thinking as he chewed and swallowed.

“Very,” he finally said. “I can’t act like I do with you when I’m around them. I’m not Kerem. I’m Prince Kerem.”

“Are those two people so different?” Byleth asked.

“I wish they didn’t have to be,” Kerem admitted quietly. “I’m Kerem, but Prince Kerem isn’t me. He doesn’t get to run around or go stargazing or practice swordsmanship with his friend. Prince Kerem doesn’t have friends.” Byleth’s breath caught in her throat.

“Am I your friend?” she asked, hesitantly. Kerem seemed confused by the question.

“Yeah, what else would you be?”

“I’m your retainer. Your employee. My dad said never to be friends with the person who pays you,” she told him.

“Do you not want to be my friend?” Kerem asked. His eyes, his beautiful green and gold eyes, grew terribly, horribly, heartbreakingly sad at that.

“Well,” Byleth said, looking away at the gathered crowds around them, “My dad isn’t here right now.”

Kerem’s smile at her declaration, her small rebellion, made her chest feel as though the sun was shining from within it.

* * *

It was late by the time they returned, the sun having long set over the horizon as they snuck back into Kerem’s room. The two fell onto Kerem’s bed, sinking eagerly into the softness of the blankets after a day spent on their feet.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Byleth mumbled, her eyes already closing. Kerem hummed in agreement and they fell asleep, two friends curled together, hearts light and hopeful.

* * *

Screams jolted Byleth out of her sleep. The hair raising shrieks sounded from the hall, the sick gurgling noises that followed sending ice through her veins, her pulse pounding in her wrists.

Still dressed in her beautiful, bright festival dress, she jumped from the bed, waking Kerem as she ran. Her slippered feet hit the ground, and with each step she took towards the door she felt terror settle like ice under her skin. 

They were too late.

The killer had struck again.

She threw open the door. 

She stepped into the hallway. 

Lying in a pool of her own blood, her last breath sighing from her cut throat, was the beautiful, spoiled Azra.

And standing over her, hands covered with Azra’s lifeblood, holding a knife, holding _ Byleth’s _knife, the knife that had disappeared from her room after the explosion that almost killed Kerem, killed her, was Rabia. Her first friend. Her trusted friend. Her first, trusted friend with burned hands and blood soaking her sleeves crimson.

“Rabia.” Byleth’s voice was quiet, shaking, raw with emotion her body did not, could not feel. Her vision tunneled, her ears began to ring. “What-”

“Byleth.” There were tears in her eyes, in Rabia’s eyes. Her voice was pleading, terrified. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Byleth’s legs shook as she walked forward. The blood that bubbled and foamed from Azra’s throat was spreading across the floor, thick and smelling of rust and iron.

It smelled like the blades of her father’s men.

She slipped, fell, her beautiful embroidered shoes sliding through the pool of blood. She landed on her hands and knees. The blood was cold. It flowed around her fingers, viscous and tangy. 

Her breath caught. 

She looked up at Rabia.

Aysu began to scream.

Guards streamed into the hall, along with the rest of the royal family. They took in the scene. They saw what Byleth had seen. They saw where Byleth kneeled, where Rabia stood, the blood soaking into their clothes and shoes. Volkan gasped. Hira threw up. Kamelya sobbed. Byleth jumped to her feet, whirling to look at Kerem, his face pale and drawn tight with terror.

They had planned for everything. 

They had not planned for this.

“Guards, arrest them!” the King shouted, grief thick in his voice, pointing to the shell shocked Rabia and Byleth. Before she could react, Byleth was being thrown to the ground, jumped on by five men, each twice her size.

Kerem yelled.

Byleth’s vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What songs remind you of Claudeleth? I’m working on a playlist. Obviously A Million Dreams is on it, but I’ve also been listening to Claudia by FINNEAS.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is posted from: work. Love working late on Fridays. Sigh.
> 
> Robin- you are the candy crusher to my nut factory. It doesn't need to make sense, our friendship just be like that.

Byleth woke up alone. 

The cell they had put her in was damp, cold. Quiet. Too quiet. She barked out a curse, letting the sound of it bounce around her head as she lay on the ground. 

Nothing.

With a centering sigh, she sat up, doing her best to ignore the rusty stains on her sleeves and skirts. Instead, she took a moment to examine her surroundings.

She was in a different cell than the one she had been placed in when she had attacked Nader and the palace guard. This one was slightly larger, with a high, small window- too small for her to fit through, she noted- and a pile of straw on the floor that she assumed was for bedding, although she kept clear of it, as it looked dank and dirty. She began to pace, the sudden feeling of confinement setting her nerves ablaze.

The last cell hadn’t been like her current one at all.

But then, her last cell had housed a stranger for interrogation. 

This one was meant for a criminal, someone guilty of a crime against her friends and their family.

Her friends. Kerem. Rabia.

The thought of Rabia sent her blood boiling. Byleth paused in her pacing, sliding back down to the ground as the reality of her situation caught up to her. 

She was in prison, suspected of a crime she did not- could not- commit. And Rabia- her training partner, her first friend, someone she had trusted- had set her up to take the fall for it.

What would have happened, she wondered, if she hadn’t rushed into the hall like a fool? Would anyone have believed her to be innocent, with her own weapon at the scene of the crime? Would they have listened to her if she had claimed with all honesty that she had lost her knife? That it had disappeared sometime between the explosion that had almost killed her- killed Kerem- and when she awoke in that hidden forest manor? Her back stung at the memory of it.

_ The explosion. _

_ Rabia’s burnt hands. _

Byleth’s chest clenched and her eyes flew wide.

It couldn’t be, could it? Had she been so blinded by the novelty of friendship, of trust, that she had missed the most likely culprit of all? Had the one person she had instinctively presumed innocent been the guilty party all along?

_ Her missing clothes. _

_ The female servant. _

_ Rabia was about her size. _

Byleth’s pulse thrummed in her wrists, her breathing coming up short.

Rabia, who was angry about her situation. Rabia, who was desperate to change the way of things. Rabia, who resented her place in the world, her weakness, her inability to carve her own path.

Byleth had admired that restlessness, seen herself in it.

And what a _ fool _ she was for it. 

Byleth wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them closer to herself as she hung her head, curling into a ball as she wallowed in self pity. She wished, for a moment, that she had never come to Almyra. That she had never strayed from her father’s side, said no to the strange boy’s offer, stayed home rather than chase down the truth, rejected his offer of employment.

She wondered, then, what would life have been like for her if none of that had ever happened. What life would have been like for Kerem. Would he have died without her there? Would they ever have met at all?

Would she have ever known the simple joy of friendship.

Perhaps not.

Footsteps came down the hall, heavy and loud, dragging her from her thoughts. The door to her cell squealed open, and she braced herself for a fight. 

But a fight did not come. Instead, the platoon of guards- for indeed there was a platoon of them- tossed a body into the cell, before slamming the door shut once more, and marching off.

Byleth looked down.

Rabia, bruised, beaten, weak, laid motionless on the floor. For a moment, Byleth wondered if she was dead, but then Rabia let out a quiet, tired, sob, her burnt fingers twitching in pain.

She was in pain.

Rabia wasn’t stupid. 

If she had planned to kill everyone- to kill Byleth, Kerem, Azra, her family- she wouldn’t have been caught red-handed in the hall outside her family’s apartments. No, she would have been smart about it. Separated and offed them, one at a time. Byleth would have done it that way, anyhow.

And Rabia certainly would never have done anything to damage her hands. Not a warrior like herself.

Byleth was not good with emotions- hers or others. But she was sure, in her heart of hearts, that the grief over her lost future that Rabia had shown her was true and real.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Byleth reached out to touch Rabia. She flinched, but only slightly, and Byleth slowly, gently, helped sit her up against the wall. Rabia would not look at her.

“Why?” Rabia asked, her voice rough and thick, almost slurring. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because,” Byleth responded, quiet, but sincere, “You said it wasn’t what it looked like. And I want to know what you meant by that.”

Rabia sighed and nodded.

“When I wake next. I will explain. Everything. I promise.” She said, her voice softening to a whisper as sleep claimed her. She fell forward, her head landing in Byleth’s lap.

So Byleth watched, and Byleth waited.

* * *

Rabia did not wake for many hours. Byleth watched as the shadows in their cell crossed the room, her mind purposefully blank.

When Rabia finally began to stir, so did Byleth from her reverie. Rabia sat, slowly, carefully, testing herself for major injuries- she had none that Byleth had been able to feel, at least, having checked the other girl over herself while she had been asleep- before sitting up to her full, regal height.

Even when beaten half to death, Rabia still looked like a princess. A warrior princess.

“I didn’t kill my sister,” Rabia said, staring straight ahead at the door. “She was obnoxious at best, a horrid, tetchy thing at worst. We didn’t agree on anything, and I didn’t particularly like her, even on her good days. But I didn’t kill her. I was awake late. I had snuck out to try and practice with my sword once everyone was in bed, but my hands hurt too badly to practice for very long. So I snuck back in. I was getting ready to apply a poultice one of my maids had procured for me when I heard a noise in the hallway. I…” Rabia trailed off, finally turning to look at Byleth. Brown eyes met blue. “I had thought it might have been you. You’d been so busy with Kerem lately, and I hadn’t seen you in so long. I guess I had hoped…”

“You hoped I was coming to see you,” Byleth said, tendrils of guilt curling under her skin. Rabia was right- she hadn’t made time for her friend in the weeks between their return and that night. She assumed it was the night before, but she wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious.

“Yes,” Rabia admitted weakly. “But it wasn’t you. I went out into the hall, and there was my sister, with a knife in her throat.” Rabia’s voice grew shaky, thin. “She looked at me and she was crying and then she collapsed on me. I didn’t know what to do. So I pulled the knife from her throat. It was your knife, I recognized the hilt of it. Fodlan made.”

Rabia sighed and turned her face from Byleth once more.

“I won’t lie, for a moment I thought that the killer may have been you. But I knew better- knew you wouldn’t have been so stupid as to kill a royal princess in the most heavily guarded part of the palace. Azra collapsed, when I did that, when I removed the knife. I held her hand as she died, you know.” Rabia sniffed, and let out a humorless chuckle. “Figures that her second least favorite sibling would be the one to see her to her next life. Before she died, though, she let out this… this scream, the likes of which I’d never heard before. And the rest…”

“I know the rest,” Byleth confirmed. The two girls sat in silence for many long moments.

“Do you believe me?” Rabia asked, her voice thin and heavy with sorrow.

“I shouldn’t.” Byleth admitted. “But I do. Perhaps it is some madness that has taken hold of my mind, but I believe you.”

Rabia let out a shuddering breath, and sagged against the wall. “I wish I had been faster,” she said. “I didn’t see who had done it. It could have been anyone.”  
  
“Actually,” Byleth said, something inside her telling her to let go and to fill in Rabia, her friend once more, on the revelation she had had, so long ago. “I think I know who’s responsible for the deaths. The killings. All of it.”

And so Byleth explained her theory, her suspicions. She told Rabia of the plan she and Kerem and Volkan had hatched- to catch the killer at the wedding red-handed. Rabia listened, her eyes going wide and her beautiful bronze skin washing out first with disbelief, then fury.

“I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it earlier,” she whispered, her fists clenched as tight as she could bear to hold them. “I have a confession to make, Byleth. I went to your room, the night before the explosion. I found the note, from the merchant. I knew which one he was, almost immediately. I’d heard rumors of him. It was wrong of me, but I was gripped then by some nameless fear that you’d leave. Leave Kerem. Leave Almyra. Leave me. So I stole the uniform in your closet. I disguised myself as a maid and sent the merchant away. Told him I was one of Kerem’s servants.” By this point, tears were streaking their way down Rabia’s face. “I was so afraid of losing you that I lost all common sense and I betrayed you. And then, as though in retribution for my actions, when I returned to my room after returning the stolen clothes, an explosive flew through my window. And I foolishly covered my face with my hands and then…” Rabia began to weep. It was an ugly thing, raw and sorrowful. She was not a pretty crier. She sobbed with her whole face, breathless and true.

Byleth could not help the sting of betrayal, though, that she felt upon the admission from Rabia. 

“I wouldn’t have left. But that was not your decision to make for me,” she said, unable to hold back the sting of anger in her voice. Rabia hiccupped. 

“I do not expect your forgiveness, Byleth,” she rasped. “But I need you to know something- I was told about the note. By the very person you say is the manipulator.”

Byleth’s breath caught in her chest. She turned to face Rabia fully. As she opened her mouth to speak, the door to the cell began to open. 

Kerem poked his head through, his eyes wide with panic as he took in his sister and his retainer. Slipping in, he closed the door behind him quietly. Byleth stood to greet him. 

“Kerem-” she began. But she was cut off by a pair of slim arms wrapping around her waist, enveloping her in a tight hug. She was caught off guard for but a moment before she returned the gesture, fiercely embracing her boss, her friend, her Kerem. Her eyes squeezed shut as she allowed herself a single moment to get lost in the simple joy of the action.

After a long moment he stepped away, his face still heavy with fear and stress.

“Our father,” he said, his voice shaking, nodding to Rabia, “Has declared that he has found the culprits behind several deaths, attacks, and attempted murders against the royal family. He has declared that in one weeks time, the perpetrators will be publicly executed.”

“We’re the culprits, aren’t we?” Rabia asked, soft and weary.

“I’m sorry,” Kerem choked out, his eyes tearing with frustration. He stared at the ground, unable to look at Byleth. “I tried to tell him that he was wrong, that he’s missing something, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s convinced he’s right, and now…”

“Now,” Byleth said, her steady voice hiding the panic she felt inside, “You go trade in those favors of ours. And get us the hell out of here.”

She only hoped they had enough time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick announcement- there will not be an update of AMD next week. The reason is because I will be participating in [ Claudeleth NSFW week](https://twitter.com/_goldenHAM/status/1202665230980931587?s=20) and I will be posting a new chapter a day for a new NSFW fic and MAFIA AU PART TWO! (Electric Boogaloo). Please be on the lookout for those!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay y’all! Con season has begun once more, plus working 23 hours in 36 hours (yay for code breaking in production) has had me WIPED! But I’m here with the second to last chapter in this arc! Originally I was going to combine this chapter with the next, but the plot had other ideas.
> 
> Robin- IT’S RAT TIME BABEY!!!!

When the guards came again, Byleth and Rabia were ready for them. Kerem had left just minutes before, giving Byleth one last hug and his sister a respectful nod on his way out. Something in her had given a little twinge at the sight of his retreating back as he left, locking the door behind him, but Byleth quashed that feeling as quickly as she could. Rather than dwell on it, she and Rabia had instead taken position in the back of the cell, standing tall and proud as a group of guards led by Nader entered their cell.

Nader looked at them for many long moments. Neither she nor Rabia looked away. It may have been her imagination, but for a moment, she almost thought Nader looked impressed.

“Rabia Efendim Sultan, second daughter of the king, flower that blooms in the moonlight, she who walks the path of the dancer, she who is blessed by her ancestors. Byleth Eisner of Fodlan.” He addressed each of them in turn. “I have come to deliver news of your sentencing.”

Byleth forced herself to remain standing, tall and defiant, despite the pang of fear that shot through her veins, colder than the icy winds of the northernmost reaches of Fodlan.

“The Great King Selim Khakhan Sultan, king of all kings, the great ruler of all Almyra, slayer of a thousand enemies, he who walks the path of the gods, long may he reign, has found you both to be guilty of numerous crimes against the royal family, including murder, attempted murder, and treason. As such, he has delivered his judgement and has delivered his sentence for your crimes.”

Nader hesitated for a moment.

“Well?” Rabia snapped, her voice haughty and regal. The soldiers sprang to attention at her tone, as though they had forgotten that the beaten girl before them was a born and bred princess, not just a prisoner. “Get on with it.”

“Rabia Efendim Sultan, your punishment is as follows- you are stripped of all lands, names, and titles granted to you by the King. In one week’s time you shall be executed as befitting your station.”

Rabia’s breathing caught audibly in her chest. Byleth wasn’t quite sure why- Kerem had already told them of what was to become of them. Perhaps reality was just now setting in for her? Byleth could understand that- her own head had begun to feel light.

“Byleth Eisner of Fodlan,” Nader continued. “Your punishment is as follows- you are removed from your employment to the court, and all records of you are to be burned from court records. In one week’s time you are to be executed as befitting of your station.”

The words settled heavily in her stomach, swirling and churning like a stormy sea. If their plan didn’t work, if they didn’t escape, if they were killed in the attempt, that would mean not just death for her. It would be as though she had not existed in the Almyran court in the first place. Suddenly, she thought of her father.

If everything went wrong, what would happen to him? Would he know of her death? Or would he be forced to live the rest of his days believing his only child had abandoned him, disappeared without a trace.

The thought of that hurt worse than anything.

The cell was quiet as the two girls absorbed the weight of their sentences. Solemnly, Nader motioned for the guards with him to leave, and they filed out, until only Nader was left. The door closed behind them, and Byleth watched as Nader struggled to find something to say.

“You don’t agree with him,” she said, watching Nader’s eyebrows tick up. “With the King.”

“What I think,” Nader said slowly, meaningfully, “Does not matter. The King’s word is final, and I must obey my King.”

“You are a good man, Nader,” Rabia said, her voice hoarse and tired. With a sigh she slowly sat back down on the floor, wincing as she settled. “Far better than the King deserves.”

The King. Not her father. If she was no longer a princess, then the King was no longer her father.

“However,” Nader said, turning to leave, “The King never said anything about summoning his wife to court.”

With that statement, he left, leaving behind a confused Rabia and an amused Byleth. A good man, yes, but perhaps not as much as she had originally assumed.

* * *

Rabia was restless after Nader left, pacing around their cell as Byleth watched on steadily.

“I thought that man was just a fool, but apparently he is a coward as well.” Rabia growled, finally stopping to lean against the stone wall. She suddenly looked so much older than her sixteen years, weary and bone tired.

“What do you mean?” Byleth asked.

“The king stripped our titles from us. Perhaps it would not have made as much of a difference for you, but for a member of a royal family, it is a slap in the face at best.” Rabia explained, slowly sinking to the ground. “It means not only that I am no longer family, but that I am to die a commoner’s death. Executed in this very cell.”

Byleth glanced down at the stone. It didn’t _ look _ blood stained.

“If I was still a princess he would have to execute me in public, in front of a crowd. The kingdom would have to stand witness. But his pride will not allow for that, will not allow for those lesser than he to see his greatest shame- that his own family is so torn asunder by the hatred he has sown through his idiotic desire to cling to outdated morals and traditions that they have sunk to hatred and crime.” Rabia spat. “Instead he would let his own flesh and blood die a commoner’s death for a crime she did not commit.”

Before Byleth could respond, a piece of paper slid under the door. Rabia, who was closer, grabbed it off of the ground. She read it over twice, her face solemn as ever as she took in the words. When she finished she handed it off to Byleth.

_ Sister- _

_ I know of your innocence, and Byleth’s as well. Fear not, for Kerem and I have a plan to break you out before you can be put to death. In the meantime, stay calm and play along with whatever happens next. _

_ Byleth- _

_ Clara is on her way. If she fails, we will come to you on the last night before your execution. We cannot come earlier without arousing suspicion. I know it is not in your nature, but if you cannot trust me, at least trust that my brother would never betray you. _

_ -Volkan _

Byleth looked up at Rabia as she began to tear the note to shreds, placing them in her mouth to swallow them.

Something like hope sparked in her.

* * *

Clara came to them soon after, flustered and furious as she slammed open the door to their cell. Byleth started at the sudden entrance, watching carefully as a guard attempted to grab her arm on her way in. Clara whirled on the man, pulling out a dagger and pointing it under his chin, her gaze hard and cold.

“You would lay a hand on the wife of the King?” she hissed at him. The man paled considerably, rapidly backing away. Clara snorted derisively and entered the cell, slamming the door shut behind with a clang that made Byleth wince. Rabia made no movement from where she laid on the straw. Clara and Byleth stared each other down for a long moment before Clara sighed, one hand weakly coming up to clasp at her chest.

“Look at this mess you’ve gotten yourself into now, girl,” Clara said by way of greeting, her voice hoarse, strained.

“We’re innocent,” Byleth said, staring earnestly into Clara’s green eyes. The color was like Kerem’s- almost an exact match, she would say- but so very much colder. Would Kerem’s eyes look like that some day? “Both of us are.”

“I know,” Clara replied, her eyes softening for just a moment. She crouched down, her emerald green skirts pooling around her as she reached out to tuck a string of blue hair behind Byleth’s ear. The action was gentle, kind, too kind. Before she could react Byleth was being pulled into a hug, both gentle and strong. “And I swear I will do my best to persuade my husband to listen to reason, but he is stubborn at best, and his honor is hurt, so it will be no easy task.”

“You’re the Queen,” Byleth said, her voice edging on desperation as she curled her hands into the fabric of Clara’s dress, trying her hardest not to lean into the woman’s touch. “Surely there must be something you can do.”

“I am no Queen, girl,” Clara said, withdrawing, suddenly cold and hard as a gem once more. Byleth desperately tried not to miss her warmth. “Almyra does not have Queens. I may be the highest ranking woman in this land since my husband’s wretched vulture of a mother passed, but I am only the King’s wife, nothing more.”

“But-”

“But,” Clara continued, shooting Byleth a sharp look, “I will do my best nonetheless. I owe you a life debt, Byleth, and I intend to pay you back in full. If my husband cannot be persuaded…”

Clara trailed off, casting a meaningful look at Byleth as she dropped a small, cloth wrapped bundle by her feet, and kicked it just out of the line of sight of the hall.

“There is a woman in the Leicester Alliance who owes me a debt. Judith Daphnel. Find her, and she will assist you.”

Giving Byleth one last look over, Clara stood and made her way to the door to the cell. The guard outside jumped to attention as she opened it, anxiously bowing to her as she left. As the door closed once more, Byleth darted for the bundle, unwrapping the cloth to discover a small dagger, sheathed in blue. Rabia, who had been feigning sleep until that moment, shot up from the ground, gasping at the sight of it.

“That is a dagger from the royal vaults,” she explained to Byleth, her eyes trailing over it longingly. “There are only five in existence. Those who carry it are held in the highest of favors by the court of Almyra. Show that dagger to anyone from Almyra and they will be honor bound to assist you. Not to mention, it’s worth a fortune.”

Byleth stared at the weapon in her hands. It was lightweight, elegant but simple, but the knowledge of what she held in her hands made it sear her skin. She tossed it to Rabia, who yelped and fumbled for it, looking at Byleth in confusion.

“I won’t need it,” Byleth said, laying down on the cold stone floor. “I have what I need to get out. I know what I need to do next, where I need to go. What about you? You can’t stay in Almyra, so where will you go? What will you do?”

Rabia hummed thoughtfully, laying back down on the ground next to Byleth. She lifted the knife above her head, staring at it thoughtfully as she considered her future.

“I want to see the world,” she said quietly. “I want to roam, explore. Perhaps I will go to Brigid, or Dagda. Somewhere where they let women fight and train like equals. This world of ours is so very big, and I have seen so very little of it.”

“You know,” Byleth said, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, “If you ever find yourself in Fodlan during your travels, I know a band of mercenaries who would be entirely too eager to have a talented swordswoman such as yourself in their midst.”

“Really?” Rabia asked, her voice half teasing, half hopeful. “I’ve never been to Fodlan. What’s it like, your homeland?”

“I’ll tell you,” Byleth turned her head to face her friend, “If you teach me how to move like you do in a fight. Your footwork, it’s like dancing, isn’t it? I saw a dancer in the marketplace that made me think of you and your fighting.”

For the first time since she had known her, Rabia laughed. The sound of it was bright and hopeful, ringing through the cell like a bugle of victory. Suddenly, it was as if the air felt warmer, her breathing easier, the tightness in her shoulders and back dissipating for a brief moment.

“You have a deal, Byleth,” Rabia said, turning her head to look at Byleth. The girls locked eyes, and despite the solemn atmosphere, despite the death sentences weighing upon their heads, despite the very real possibility of their escape plan failing, neither could hold back their smiles.

* * *

Byleth told Rabia of Fodlan. Of the knights and blistering cold of Faerghus, of the shadowed streets and lush forests of Adrestia, of the open plains and rushing rivers of Leicester. She told Rabia of the cities she’d seen, the people she’d met, the foods and festivals and traditions. Of the church and religion that the majority subscribed to, although her father tended to dismiss that sort of frivolity, unless it was to appease a customer or secure a higher pay.

And in the night, when the guards were less active, less likely to pay attention, Rabia taught Byleth how to dance.

“A solid dancing foundation is the key to nimble movements.” Rabia told her, tapping at Byleth’s knees with the dagger she had yet to let go of. “Now bend more, you’re too stiff.”

And so they danced, and talked, and learned from each other, and planned their futures. As Byleth practiced her footwork, over and over and over, she thought of her father, of Rabia, of Clara and her mysterious friend.

Of Kerem.

The only flaw in her plan.

She had not meant to befriend the young prince. But she had, foolishly, and now the thought of leaving him behind, leaving him to the deadly cruelty of the Almyran court was almost too much to bear. A pit gaped in her stomach at the thought of leaving without him, dark and cavernous and heavy with the weight of a future without both of her friends by her side. And yet somehow the thought of being parted from Rabia was less frightening, less intense, than the thought of possibly never seeing Kerem again.

Would he come with her, if she asked? Would he leave this place, his family, his mother behind if it meant his safety? If it meant freedom and the chance to live a life unburdened by royal obligations and the deadly cruelty of the Almyran court?

He wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. He had plans, big plans, a million dreams and ideas and hopes for the future, swirling around in that too-clever head of his, and she would be lying to herself if she thought he would give that up for anything, even her. They were friends, but some things were greater than friendship. She would ask him nonetheless, but she steeled herself for his inevitable denial.

Just as he had let her make her decision to stay, she would let him make his as well.

And when the cell door crept open that final night of their lives, silent and careful as Kerem grinned at them easily, excitedly, eagerly as they snuck out of the cell, with weapons and rations and coins in hand, she prepared herself for goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw
> 
> So, readers, what are your biggest fandoms outside of FE? Mine are BNHA and Star Wars (EU included, yes).


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cryin in the club over KH:REMIND
> 
> Robin- stop cyber bullying me on twitter dot com :(

The night air tasted of freedom. Kerem had ushered them out of their cell quickly, guiding the girls through the winding maze of the cell blocks as he explained to them what he had put in the sacks he handed them. Rations, a change of clothes, some gold.

The coins they could exchange for their freedom.

They had reached the staircase leading to the world above faster than Byleth had expected. In fact, their entire journey had been smooth up until that point- not a guard in sight. She asked Kerem why that was, and he had paused for a moment to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, you see, the entire palace guard may or may not have come down with a slight case of severe food poisoning tonight,” Kerem explained. Byleth quirked an eyebrow. Kerem shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about it. In fact, I do believe this strange illness is affecting the entire royal family as well. I’m certainly laid up in bed, fighting off stomach pain.”

He hesitated for a moment more before leading them up the stairs, towards a heavy, wooden door.

“Also,” he added as he approached the door, “Peri, Verda, and Nahir say goodbye, and good luck.”

The door swung open, and fresh air poured into the hall, smelling of freedom, friendship, and a hopeful future so close she could taste it. Byleth’s lips quirked into a smile, and the three friends left the dungeon.

* * *

Volkan was waiting for them in the courtyard, impatiently running his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth, an eye to the sky as he tracked the time. He let out a small breath at the sight of them appearing from around the corner, though whether the sound was a noise of relief or agitation was unclear.

“You’re late,” he chastised Kerem. And then, contradicting his own haste, he took a moment to look over Byleth, briefly, and his sister. His eyes swept over her, sad and filled with a lifetime of regrets, of missed opportunities and unspoken words.

“Sister,” he said. He raised his hand, as though he wished to reach out to her, but he quickly tucked it back against his side.

“Brother,” Rabia responded, stepping into him. Quickly, reached for the hand he had withdrawn, squeezing it softly between her own scarred palms. “May we meet again, in a more just and peaceful future.”

Volkan said nothing, but he returned her grasp for a moment before pulling away, motioning his head towards the courtyard entrance.

“Come,” he said, “We must move quickly-”

“Going somewhere?”

The question rang through the courtyard, a bell tolling the doom of its denizens. For there, looming in the only exit, teeth bared in an animalistic sneer, armor gleaming a sickly, viscous black in the light of the moon, stood Erhan.

The eldest prince prowled towards them, slowly unsheathing his sword, the hiss-scrape of metal ringing through the night like the sound of a viper, poised to strike.

“I knew something was off,” he hissed, creeping ever closer. Byleth suddenly felt so very naked, unarmed as she was. He took another step. Kerem’s breathing hitched, and Byleth stepped in front of him, almost unconsciously. The movement drew Erhan’s gaze, and he snarled at his youngest brother. “You did this, I’m sure. Poisoned everyone like the dirty half breed coward you are.”

“Brother,” Volkan said, his voice calm and steady. “Remember what you came here for.”

Fear and betrayal lanced through her chest, sudden and sharp like a blade as Byleth’s head shot around to stare at Volkan. Rabia next to her looked disappointed, but not surprised.

“Remember plan F?” Kerem whispered in her ear.

Plan F. Plan ‘Fuck It’. Their last resort plan. Cause such a big distraction that they could escape in the chaos, unnoticed. Distraction. Erhan wasn’t a distraction.

But hurting him would be.

A badly injured crown prince was sure to draw the attention of the entire royal family. If she could fight him, win against him, knock him unconscious. Their group could escape. His discovery could distract the royal family long enough to give them enough of a head start to avoid capture.

It was a plan. A bad, last resort plan. But they were in a bad, last resort situation.

“Ah, right,” Erhan growled, finally coming to stop in the center of the courtyard, the metal covering him down to his toes scraping against the cobblestones. “I’m here to kill the criminals.”

“The only criminal I see,” Byleth called as she stepped forward, fists clenched as she squared off with the angered prince, “Is your criminally ugly face!”

“So, you wish to die first, do you?” Erhan spat as he pointed his sword at her. “Be my guest!”

He lunged for her and Byleth dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of his powerful swing. His large frame and long reach put her at a disadvantage in many ways. But she was smart and fast and quick on her feet.

She would not lose here.

So she ran.

Erhan paused for a moment before giving chase, his sword slashing and swinging through the air behind her as she dodged and wove, narrowly missing the cutting edge of his sword. In and out of his reach she danced, twirling and toying with him as she led him to the edge of the courtyard, disappearing behind a shrubbery for several moments before he sliced through it with his sword, chopping it in half as she ran out from her momentary hiding spot.

“Cowards, all of you!” he yelled, picking up speed as he chased her back into the center of the courtyard. “Now die in shame like a good little Fodlani girl!”

Byleth skidded to a halt in the center of the courtyard, bending backwards as Erhan swung his powerful sword in a sideways stroke, aiming for her center. She sprang back to a standing position and, before he could pull out of his swing, she jumped, the rock she had been hiding in her hands gleaming in the starlight as she brought it brutally, swiftly, down upon Erhan’s uncovered head.

Erhan crumpled like dry parchment, collapsing to the ground with a loud clang.

Several moments passed as Byleth fought to catch her breath, silence weighing heavily in the courtyard.

“Is that good enough?” she asked, turning to face her friends, just a few feet behind her.

“That should be-”

“Byleth!” Rabia shouted, running for her, Volkan close on her tail.

Byleth turned.

Erhan sat up. He shot forward, his sword gleaming hungrily. Byleth closed her eyes, willing her death to be fast and painless.

The blade struck true, spearing through Rabia’s ribcage with a wet crunch. Time stopped. Rabia hung there, midair, so small and fragile in the light of the moon as the realization of what she had done, what had happened to her, who she had jumped between, struck. Time resumed. Erhan pulled the blade out.

Rabia fell.

Byleth screamed.

Volkan moved quickly, running forward and slamming a boot into the fallen prince’s head, knocking him truly unconscious as Byleth caught Rabia, her weight going slack in her arms as she lowered the gasping princess to the ground. Rabia was bleeding through her shirt, the blood bubbling up through the wound in sickening waves as it flowed, hot and thick, over Byleth’s hands as she pressed down on it with all her might, begging some higher power, some greater being, some ancestor or spirit or god above to stop the bleeding, to turn back time.

“Kerem!” Byleth screamed, her voice tearing from her throat in a hoarse shout as the blood of a second royal princess soaked into her floral dress, filthy with blood and the grime of a week of captivity. “Kerem, I need bandages!”

“Byleth.”

“Kerem, hurry! Bring me something to cover her, we need to stop this bleeding!”

“Byleth.”

“Kerem!” she screamed again. He was running for her sack, which she had dropped some ways away. Her head snapped to Volkan, who was checking Erhan’s pulse. Then back to Kerem again, watching as he rummaged for clothing. Back and forth between the two her gaze flew, refusing to look at the sight below her, to acknowledge who lay dying beneath her small hands, powerless to stop the flow of blood.

“Byleth.” Rabia’s hand cupped her cheek, cold and clammy. “Byleth listen to me.”

“It’s okay, Rabia, you’re going to be okay, I promise.” Byleth said, her voice tremulous and thick and desperate as she finally looked down at her friend, her first friend, the girl she was supposed to keep safe, to deliver to her destiny.

“Byleth, please,” Rabia begged. “I need you to listen to me.”

“Ok, I’m listening,” she murmured, leaning in close, the words sticking in her throat as Rabia, proud, beautiful, strong, bled into the ground below her.

“I need you to promise me something.” Rabia’s voice was shaking, tears pooling in her eyes as she struggled to keep them focused.

“Anything, Rabia, anything,” Byleth swore with her whole heart and soul. Kerem appeared behind her, spare clothes in hand as he handed them to Byleth. Byleth moved to take them, but Rabia grabbed her wrist.

“Keep my brothers safe for me, Byleth?” Rabia asked, the tears in her amber eyes spilling out, tracking down dirty, bloodstained cheeks.

It was wrong. It was so wrong that death should come to Rabia, her friend, her ally. She had seen death before, seen her father’s men die by blade or by arrow or by poison, once even by drinking himself to death. But this was different. They were adults, grown men who knew every day that it might be their last, who lived with that knowledge at the front of their minds. They were not Rabia, just over sixteen, a princess with an adventurer’s soul who wanted to travel the world, be her own person. Learn of life away from the palace where she had been born. Away from the palace where she would die.

“We’ll do it together,” Byleth said, begged, pleaded, despite the uselessness of it. Rabia coughed, blood spilling from her lips as her eyes fluttered.

“Byleth, I’m scared,” Rabia sobbed, her eyes dimming. “Stay with me, please. I don’t want to die alone.”

“I won’t leave you,” Byleth swore, her eyes burning as she leaned all the way down, pressing her forehead against Rabia’s. “I swear it, Rabia.”

“The stars,” Rabia gasped, her body shaking. “Can you see them?”

“Yes, sister,” Kerem said, reaching to take her other hand. “They’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad.” Rabia’s voice was weak, barely a whisper. “It is an honor, I think, to die for a friend on a beautiful night.”

Rabia took one, final, rattling breath.Her hand fell from Byleth’s face, thudding to the blood stained stone below as her face went slack and her amber eyes dimmed to black.

Crouched over her friend’s rapidly cooling body, Byleth, for the first time in her life, began to cry. Her body shook, hot tears spilling down her face as she clutched desperately at her friend’s hand, a high keening noise echoing in her ears as she knelt there, bloodied and battered. Kerem’s other hand rose to her cheek as he felt the wetness of her tears.

“Byleth,” he said, his voice hoarse and weak, “We need to go.”

“No,” Byleth protested, shaking her head as she began to rock back and forth, eyes screwing shut as she felt something, _ something _ bubble up inside her. The keening noise had stopped, and she pulled, reaching for that thing she felt within her, that thing that felt like power and smelled like thunder and looked like green, that thing that she had felt briefly once before, seen from the corner of her eyes. That thing that told her that if she could just pull harder, reach further, she could fix this, fix Rabia.

“Byleth!” Kerem snapped. Byleth’s eyes sprung open, her concentration broken as she glanced at her other, still living, still breathing, desperate friend. He was oddly calm despite having just witnessed his sister’s death, and for a moment Byleth almost resented him for it. “If you don’t leave now then you will have wasted my sister’s death.”

“But I promised her,” Byleth gave one final protest. “That I’d stay with her.”

“Let me say her death rites, then,” said Volkan, from where he was seated next to the unconscious Erhan. “Once those are done her spirit will be freed. Then you must go, Byleth.”

Byleth leaned forward once more to press a kiss to Rabia’s forehead, before letting go of her hand and leaning back, roughly scrubbing at her face with her unbloodied hand.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Okay.”

Volkan rose from the ground, his face weary and tired as he approached the body of his dead sister. He kneeled next to her, placing a hand upon her forehead.

He spoke then, low and quiet in what Byleth vaguely recognized as ancient Almyran. The sound of it was melodic and fluid, rising and falling with the breeze as Volkan spoke his sister’s spirit into the next life, sending her away from the earth that had treated her so cruelly. She recognized a few words- star, spirit, daughter- but the rest flowed around her like ice water, cold and flowing as she said her own goodbyes to the girl laying below her. To the girl who had looked at the fate that she had been given and fought and rebelled against it to the end. To Rabia, princess of Almyra, the first friend she had ever had.

* * *

The clothes she had attempted to use to staunch Rabia’s bleeding lay in the pool of blood next to her, and so Byleth grabbed what had been Rabia’s bag, quickly transferring her own supplies to the clean one.

“I’ll stay here,” Volkan said, his eyes still trained on the body of Rabia. “Someone needs to watch over Erhan and ensure that he stays unconscious until you’ve left.”

Byleth hesitated at his statement, before nodding once, tossing him one of the coins from her bag. Volkan caught it, and looked up at her.

“Stay safe. Get out if they suspect you,” she told him. He nodded, and she and Kerem began to run, Kerem pulling her along through alleys and passageways until they reached the stables, where Yamud, Kerem’s horse, stood, saddled and pawing at his ties.

They came to a stop in front of him. Byleth turned to Kerem.

“You won’t be safe here,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, sliding his hands to grasp hers.

“Come with me,” she said.

“I can’t,” he replied, casting his eyes to the ground. “I have things I need to finish here first.”

“But soon?” she asked, the edge of hope creeping into her voice as she looked at him. Kerem looked up from the ground, his beautiful green eyes locking with hers. He squeezed her hands, letting go of one to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“As soon as I can,” he swore. “I’ll come to Fodlan, come find you. Bring you back to Almyra. I promise.”

Byleth reached for him and they fell into each other, arms grasping at clothes as they embraced one another. Byleth committed the smell of him to memory.

After many long moments they disentangled themselves, and before she mounted Yamud she reached into her sack, rifling around until she found the last silver, dragon printed coin. She slid it into Kerem’s hands.

“If something goes wrong,” she said, “come find my father and I. Ask any merc in Fodlan, they’ll know how to find us.”

“How will you get across the border?” Kerem asked.

“Your mother gave me a special dagger,” Byleth said. “I had planned on letting Rabia take it.”

Her chest squeezed painfully at the mention of her friend.

“Be safe.” Kerem said, his lips quirking into a small, sad smile. “I will see you again, friend.”

“I will see you again,” she echoed. Turning her back to him, she mounted Yamud, and rode away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing. Now onto some news: I am taking a two week hiatus from this fic, as I need to do some catching up on other fics and projects and cosplays I’m working on (Katsucon is WAY TOO SOON). I also want to do a GD replay, as I plan on writing through the entire game (nervous sweats). Thank you for your patience, and I’ll see you all on February 14th!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> First, if you are reading this on any website or app that is not Archive of Our Own, please know that it has been displayed/uploaded without my permission, and I do not authorize the sharing of it anywhere other than the official AO3 website. Please do not support these websites looking to profit off of fan creators without their express permissions.
> 
> Second: thank you for your patience with the update delay- I meant to transfer this chapter from Word on my computer onto my Google Drive before I left for Katsucon so that I could upload it while at the con, but I 100% forgot to. 
> 
> Third: Robin is the best, and no I do not take constructive criticism

The low roar of the tavern washed over Byleth like a warm welcome, comforting in its familiarity as she took her favored seat at the worn bar. She slid a coin to the barmaid, who tucked it into her apron with a wink before pouring out an over full glass of mead for her.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, friendly and kind to one of the few regulars she had that kept up with her tab. Byleth shook her head and the barmaid nodded, leaving to go serve at the other end of the room. 

“Good job out there today,” came the deep voice from behind her, warm and caring. Byleth relaxed, almost instantaneously, turning to tip her glass at her partner as he sat next to her with a wince. 

“Your hip?” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at him as though daring him to lie to her. Jeralt grimaced and nodded, reaching for her glass. She ducked and moved it out of his reach.

“No way. If you want a drink you have to get one yourself,” she told him, batting away his reaching hand.

“But Marie doesn’t like me,” he grumbled, almost childishly. Ridiculous for a man of his age and stature. Byleth snorted into her drink, turning her gaze out to the rest of the room, eyes picking over the crowd as she counted out their men. Twelve in total, each in varying degrees of insobriety.

“Maybe if you paid your tabs—” she began, only for Jeralt to roll his eyes and scoff, leaning one arm onto the bar as he reached his other to ruffle her hair. She wrinkled her nose at the action, ducking out from under his hand. 

“Stop that,” she chided him. “I’m not a child anymore.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me, kid,” he said, although he withdrew his hand nonetheless. The two sat in silence for some time, Byleth nursing at her drink, Jeralt lost in thought.

“We were offered two new contracts. Another bandit sweep is needed in Gautier territory,” Jeralt told her. She hummed thoughtfully. Lots of bandit problems these days. Jeralt cleared his throat before continuing, “The other is a higher paying mission. Guard duty. In Leicester.”

Byleth’s blood ran cold, her fingers tightening around the handle of her mug. A mission in Leicester territory. 

“I won’t go,” she told him. Jeralt sighed. 

“It’s been five years, kid,” he said, his voice weary. “You can’t avoid Leicester forever.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” she said, her voice cold and short as she rose from her seat. “I will not take a job in Leicester. End of discussion.”

“Kid, if you would just tell me why—”

“No,” she cut him off, bracing herself against the bar, fingernails digging grooves into the wood as she clenched her hands around the bar top. “You don’t need to know.”

“Kid, I finally find you again and you’re different. You won’t tell me what happened in Almyra or why you’re here, and all I know is that you have a new dagger, a scrap of bloody fabric you refuse to throw away, and a scar that from the looks of it almost killed you.” Jeralt growled, narrowing his eyes at her. Byleth stared back unflinchingly. “You won’t tell me about any of it. You refused to even speak to me for months, and once you finally start talking again you clam up at every mention of Almyra.”

“I’m not—”

“Let me finish,” Jeralt cut her off, his voice taking an edge that made her sit down once more, though she would not look at him. “And then for two years you refuse to step foot out of Leicester. You start screaming and losing your mind at the thought of leaving and you still won’t tell me why. And suddenly one day you say you want to leave. Fine. We pack up, head out, and ever since you’ve refused to go back. You’ve changed, Byleth. You’re so distant now. Untrusting. I don’t know what happened but sometimes I damn the day I decided to take that mission in Almyra.”

Byleth said nothing, silence settling heavily around them as parent and child sat next to each other long into the night, the crowds around them growing rowdier and rowdier as the night wore on. Eventually, Byleth stood, physical and emotional exhaustion weighing heavily on her. 

“I’m going to bed,” she told him. 

“Rest well,” he said. “We’ll leave for the Kingdom tomorrow.” Byleth nodded, pushing the rest of her drink to him as she left the tavern to head to her room at the inn next door.

She changed quickly into her sleep wear, shucking her armor and boots into a corner of the room before sitting heavily on the bed, dagger clutched in her hands. She bowed her head, touching her forehead against it for a moment before putting it down under her pillow.

“I’m sorry, friend,” she whispered to the night air. “I’m afraid I’ve failed you.”

* * *

Ever since leaving Almyra, her dreams had become tumultuous. Dreams of battles, of death, of bloodshed. Dreams of thousands crying out to her, all of them waiting for her, needing her, begging to her, their voices meshing together into cries that washed over her in waves, distant and roaring and just beyond her understanding. Sometimes, she dreamed of a girl. Of flashes of green. Of something boiling beneath her skin, just beyond her knowledge, just out of reach. 

That night, she dreamed of a battle. Two armies clashing on a battlefield soaked in blood as the heavens wept, each viciously and cruelly determined to eliminate the other. A woman, radiant, determined, frightening in her rage as she tore through the masses, cries of hatred and anguish ripping from her throat as she cut her way to the front lines, blood and mud soaking her feet as she ran. A man, meeting her halfway, the sword in his hand calling to Byleth so painfully it was like nothing she had ever known, ever felt. The rain cleared, sunlight streaming upon the plains. The man and woman locked eyes, a thousand words unsaid in the glance they shared as they attacked. The battlefield stilled around them as they fought, dirty and vicious until the man fell, and the woman ended him, tears unshed in her eyes as she cradled the sword in her arms.

“He’s gone now, Mother,” the woman cooed to the sword, her voice tremulous as she cradled it against her cheek. 

_ No _ , Byleth wanted to tell her, though she didn’t know why,  _ he’s not. _

The dream changed. A girl with green hair was speaking to her. Asking her name, who she was. Byleth answered, though what she said she forgot as soon as she said it. But something about this girl was important. Different. 

She knew her, somehow. 

Green eyes burned into hers as the dream faded. 

_ It is almost...time to… begin…  _

* * *

  
Byleth awoke with a start, before dawn. Her breathing was shaky, slow, as she regained her bearings. Her dreams still gripped her, refusing to fade from behind her eyes as she stretched, then dressed, washing her face as she prepared for a day of travel. Her lower back twinged at the thought of a full day of riding. Her mare was a good enough mount, reliable and steady, but far from a comfortable ride. 

For a moment, she wished she had Yamud still. Something in her chest ached, hard and vicious, and she cut away the thought with practiced care, snipping at the tendrils and dropping it with the rest.

Yamud was gone. So was her past. She had only her future, now, and that future contained a perfectly good mare.

Traipsing down the stairs, she saw that Jeralt was already waiting for her, the circles under his eyes alerting her that she must have been crying out in her sleep once again. She averted her eyes as he looked at her. 

“You having that dream again?” he asked her, kind and patient. She nodded, once. 

“I was dreaming about a war,” she said. She explained what she had seen, the memory of it still clear as day behind her eyelids. Jeralt frowned, his brow wrinkling with thought.

“Massive armies clashing on a vast field? There hasn’t been a battle like that in over three centuries,” he said, his voice trailing off in thought as he pondered her dreams. He shook his head, motioning for Byleth to follow him. “In any case, put that out of your mind for now. The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts. Risking your life is part of the job for mercenaries like us. Letting your mind wander is a sure way to get yourself killed.”

Byleth nodded, moving to follow him towards the door. Jeralt paused, though, turning his head to stare at the wall of the inn.

“About our conversation last night,” he said. Byleth froze. “I understand that you don’t want to tell me what happened. That you may never be ready to tell me what happened. That’s okay. We all have secrets. It’s what makes us human. But kid, don’t let your past dictate your future. Let it guide you, inform you. But don’t let it control you.”

Byleth took a deep breath, the movement calming her thrumming nerves. She nodded to him.

“Someday,” she told him. “But not yet.”

Jeralt smiled wanly. 

“That’s all I can ask for, kid.”

He opened his mouth as though to say something else, when one of his men burst in through the door. Angus, one of the new recruits.

“Jeralt! Sir! Sorry to barge in, but your presence is needed.” Angus’s voice was serious, all business. Byleth felt herself stand at attention.

“What’s happened?” Jeralt asked, his attention diverted from their conversation.

“Kids, sir,” Angus said. “They need help.”

* * *

The early morning air was cold around her as Byleth exited the door behind her father, hand on her sword as she breathed in the damp spring air. Birds trilled around them as they made their way out to where the kids were waiting for them. Byleth paused, turning to glance at the sky as her father approached a trio. She swore she saw something flicker in the sky above her, amongst the stars.

“Please, forgive our intrusion,” said the first voice, male. What was it that she had seen? “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”

“What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?” her father responded. There it was again, to her right.

“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits,” the voice explained. The stars grew bright, unnaturally so. Byleth’s breath caught, unable to look away. “I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.”

“Bandits? Here?” Her father’s voice was distant, concerned. Byleth knew she should be paying attention, but she could not draw her eyes from the stars as they gleamed.

“It’s true.” A girl’s voice this time. It was like… like they were trying to tell her something. She held her breath, desperate to understand what message the heavens were trying to impart to her. “They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.”

The stars burned into her eyes. 

She blinked.

The vision faded.

“We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered.” Came a third voice. Byleth’s breath caught again. That voice. It was familiar. Too familiar. “They’re after our lives, not to mention our gold.”

Byleth turned, finally facing the group that was speaking to her father.

A girl, on the right. Diminutive, but powerful nonetheless, her aura speaking of one who knew of many hardships, many battles. Her hair gleamed like starlight in the predawn.

A boy, in the middle. Lanky, gangly, but strong despite his stiff awkwardness, blue eyes gleaming eerily, something lying beneath them that warned Byleth to stay away.

A final boy, on the left. Tall, shoulders back, deceivingly casual despite the situation. Brow hair slicked back from his face, golden skin sparking recognition as she took in the shape of his face, the arch of his brow, the tone of his voice. His clothes and accent were as Fodlani as possible, but sure enough, standing before her was Melik, returned to life.

The three turned to look at her.

Green eyes met her own. They flashed- confusion, recognition, fear, hope, one after the other before they settled to practiced apathy.

Byleth’s throat dried, her breath catching in her mouth, her eyes blowing wide.

No, not Melik.

Her Kerem, in the flesh, standing before her once more.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy yall! The next chapter will be up on Friday, as usual. In the meantime, I have a few polls up on my twitter account (linked below, check the pinned tweet) about some things I am considering for the future of this fic. Please vote so that I can make an informed decision on what you- the reader- wants to see from me!
> 
> Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

The world could have ended in that very moment and Byleth would not have noticed, nor would she have particularly cared. Kerem- and she was sure now, that it was her Kerem- stared back at her. Had she not known him, had she not been so very keenly aware of his masks and facades, she would have thought his expression to be one of blank apathy. The look of one stranger meeting another.

But she knew him. She knew better.

“Claude, is everything alright?” The other boy asked, he and the girl trading a look of confusion at his sudden silence. Claude? Who was Claude?

“Yeah, just got lost in thought for a moment.” Kerem said, turning to face his companions, an easy smile on his face. “Now about those bandits.”

Claude? Was she wrong? Could she have been mistaken? Byleth looked at him closer, eyes still wide and unblinking as she took in as much of the boy- no, the young man before her. He was tall, taller than her now, even, with an easy air about him that was belied by the fact that his smile didn’t quite reach his emerald eyes.

Emerald eyes with a ring of gold, when the light hit them right.

There was no mistaking it now- this was her Kerem. No one else could have eyes like that, like his. But those eyes that once held warmth and curiosity and an eagerness to experience the world despite its hardships and cruelties were now cold, closed off.

They were his mother’s eyes, now.

She looked closer, as the three talked to Jeralt, explaining their plight, tossing underhanded jabs at each other. He was taller now, and going by a different name, apparently, but that was not all that was different. His hair, one worn loose or held back with a brightly patterned head scarf was now perfectly tousled in a way that resembled many a young man hailing from the Leicester alliance that she had seen. In fact, his entire appearance was cleaned up and toned down, nothing like the bright and beautiful colors and dress of Almyra, but like that of a young Fodlani noble, through and through. The only things that spoke of his Almyran heritage were his broad shoulders and a single braid that dangled by the side of his face. The mark of a warrior. Of a man.

So he’d passed his mertlik ceremony.

The though pierced through her like a lance. Seven years had passed. What else had she missed? What had happened to him while she had been gone?

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jeralt said, his voice suddenly turning sharper, dangerous as he looked between Byleth and Kere- no, Claude, “Aren’t you-”

“Jeralt, sir!” Angus reappeared, startling Byleth, causing her to blink and look away from Ke- Claude. Claude. Claude. Not Kerem, not anymore. Claude. “Bandits spotted just outside the village! There are a lot of them, sir.”

Jeralt cursed and turned to his men. Byleth found herself turning to face him, if only out of instinct.

Was she just imagining it, or were there eyes on her back, studying her?

“Byleth and I will handle this,” Jeralt said, motioning for the two nearest mercenaries to hand over their swords. They did so without hesitation, and Byleth took the iron sword, the weight of it grounding her to their current situation. “Stay here, and keep the village safe. We’ll try to head them off in the woods.”

Byleth nodded a quick thanks to the man who handed her the sword before turning to give her father a leg up onto his horse. She followed close behind until they were next to the other group. Claude’s group.

“They must have followed you all the way here.” Jeralt told them from atop his mount, his mouth creasing at the edges as he looked them over disapprovingly. “We can’t abandon this village now. You can stay here, or you can fight. If you choose to fight, though, you follow my orders, understood?”

The three nodded, eager, almost innocently so. Byleth wondered if any of them- besides Claude- had seen battle before. They looked soft, unused to live battle. She doubted any of them had ever killed before. Would they be prepared to, now?

“Good. Here are my orders, then.” Jeralt said. “Follow Byleth, she’ll keep you alive. Do what she says. And stay out of my way.”

* * *

They ambushed the bandits on their approach to the village. The leader of the bunch was fairly average, so far as bandits went. Squat, brutish, kind of ugly. She guided the group into a cove of trees, where they swiftly dispatched the first group of wannabe thugs. Edelgard and Dimitri- as she had learned they were called- flanked her, watching her every move as they fought, eagerly drinking in her fighting style and movements.

“Your fighting style is quite fascinating,” Dimitri said, at one point. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything like it before.”

Byleth said nothing, pushing past the blonde to cut down a hidden archer. Blood spattered around her as she made the killing blow, a few droplets hitting her cheek. Dimitri winced, his face paling ever so slightly at the sight of it, quickly glancing away. Edelgard didn’t seem to notice.

Interesting.

The bandit she had thought was dead twitched, as though moving to reach for his weapon once more. Before she could act, an arrow flew past her, landing in the man’s neck with a thick, wet crunch. She turned her head to look over her shoulder. Claude, this strange boy, this not-Kerem, saluted her with two fingers.

Her father rode past them, towards the cliffs where the lead bandit was hiding out, like the coward he was. Shaking the moment off, Byleth followed after him, the three young adults in their oddly similar outfits following close behind.

The rest of the bandits were dispatched easily, not even a slight challenge for herself and Jeralt. The three kids dispersed slightly, Dimitri and Claude pausing to catch their breath, Edelgard taking her own rest by a nearby tree.

Claude looked up at her, the rising sun hitting his eyes, their centers gleaming gold.

Byleth’s chest clenched, hard and painful.

She walked past him, heading towards her father.

“I waited for you.” She whispered under her breath as she passed, the Almyran language flowing off of her tongue like honeyed wine. It tasted like coming home. And then, all at once, three things happened.

Claude froze.

Edelgard cried out.

The head bandit jumped to his feet and charged.

For a moment, Byleth was no longer in a Fodlani forest. There was no Jeralt, no lost lordlings, no rising sun. In that moment she was in Almyra, in a cobblestone courtyard, watching as a cruel and vengeful prince rose to strike her down. She saw herself, bloodied, exhausted, afraid against the night sky.

She saw Rabia, beautiful and brave.

But this time, it was her turn to jump.

* * *

“Honestly, what are you accomplishing with that little stunt?” The green haired girl chided. “It’s like you’re trying to get me killed, you fool!”

Byleth blinked, slowly becoming aware of herself, her surroundings. The green haired girl scowled at her from atop her stone throne, before sighing heavily, her head perched delicately on her small fist.

“Well, it’s fine.” The girl said, deceptively nonchalant. “After all, if you don’t know the value of your own life, you’re not going to protect it very well, are you?”

Byleth hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue melting away beneath the burning green gaze.

“Course not.” The girl said matter of factly, before giggling and clapping her hands together. “Well then, I guess it’s up to me to guide you from now on. Right?”

The girl stood to her full height, impossibly tall and impossibly short at once. Her outfit, a royal blue with decadent golden embroidery and ornamentation seemed to sway in a breeze that was not there. 

“You can call me Sothis,” she said, the words ringing through the air like the chiming of a golden bell. “But I’m also known as ‘The Beginning’.”

“The beginning?” Byleth asked, the atmosphere that had stilled her tongue before suddenly dissipating. Where had she heard that before? Something about it was familiar, like a melody from her past, heard on a warm breeze and blown away.

“Sothis…” the girl said, sitting down once more, ignoring Byleth’s question. “Yes, that is it. My name is Sothis. And I am also called ‘The Beginning’. But who was it who once called me that?”

“Sothis?” Byleth echoed, growing more confused by the second. The girl’s- Sothis’s eyes snapped open. 

“I was not able to recall my name until just now.” She said breezily. Byleth felt her stomach churn nervously at the statement. “And just like that it came to me. How odd!”

Byleth bit her lip, the movement catching Sothis’ eye. 

“That look upon your face. Did you think me a child? A mere child who forgot her own name?” She snapped, offense thick in her voice. “Phooey! That ‘child’ just saved your life! And what does that make you?”

“I’m… less than a child?” Byleth offered up hesitantly. Her life… saved her life… 

“Correct! You understand!” Sothis continued on. “You threw yourself before an axe just to save one young girl, out of what? Some misguided sense of universal repayment? One person sacrifices themself for you and suddenly you must return the favor? How very childish.”

Her life! Byleth gasped. Edelgard, Dimitri. The bandits. Her father. 

Kerem. 

Claude. 

Panicked, she turned to the girlish figure before her.

“All is well,” Sothis assured her, entirely too calm for the situation at hand. “I have stalled the flow of time for now. You would have died had I not intervened.”

“Thank you,” Byleth breathed, almost unconsciously as her mind whirred, trying to piece together this impossible situation. 

“There now, is gratitude so much to ask?” Sothis said. “I did deem you worth saving, after all. Though it is only momentary, time has stopped. However did I manage that?”

The last part she spoke almost to herself, but the words carried to Byleth nonetheless, her panic rising steadily.

“What will happen when time resumes?” Byleth asked shakily, her mind steadfastly focused on thoughts of those who waited her in reality, wherever that was. 

“When time begins again, the axe will tear into your flesh, and you will surely meet your end.” Sothis stated. Byleth held back a whimper, just barely. No, it was too soon. She couldn’t die- not now, not yet. 

Not when she hadn’t properly reunited with her Kerem.

“How rude of you to drag me into this!” Sothis continued, ignoring Byleth’s plight. “Now, what to do?”

“Unless you can turn back the hands of time, I see no way out of this.” Byleth all but snapped at the precocious girl. Sothis turned to face her, and Byleth was sure she would truly meet her end then. 

But then the strangest thing happened. 

Sothis’s eyes grew wide.

“Of course!” She cried, “I must turn back the hands of time!”

A glowing golden circle formed before the girl, gleaming with symbols and words she couldn’t quite make out. Byleth’s breath caught as the light of it washed over her, warm and kind. 

“Yes,” Sothis hummed, pleased with herself, “I do believe it can be done. You really are quite troublesome.”

The light grew from a shine to a blaze, engulfing Byleth is a golden fire that both burned and soothed, terrorized and calmed. 

“I cannot wind back time too far, but all is well.” Sothis warned, her voice echoing all around, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “You are aware of what’s to come, which means you can protect yourself this time.”

The light burned bright, and it was all that Byleth knew.

_ Now go. Yes, you who bares the flames within. Drift through the flow of time to find the answers that you seek.  _

The light disappeared.

Time had turned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A few updates:
> 
> 1) the polls on my twitter have ended. Clara will remain Clara, and I’ll work on a plan to work in Ashen Wolves/DLC content and “recruit” other characters. 
> 
> 2) I’m hosting a fic giveaway! Details are on my pinned tweet which is attached to my twitter account below!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for your patience. If you’re not following me on Twitter: I was unable to update last week due to a fun case of bronchitis! But that’s all cleared out of my system and I’m back in business!
> 
> A warning, before the chapter begins: Byleth has a panic attack in this chapter. As someone with severe anxiety- amongst other things- I wrote the experience as closely to my own as I could. Everyone experiences anxiety differently, and I have chosen to have Byleth experience hers like I do mine. If reading a panic attack could be triggering to you, skip the portions between ‘Was she going crazy?’ and ‘She lifted herself off of the floor with a heavy sigh.’
> 
> Thanks!!
> 
> Robin- SENDING EVERY GOOD RAT VIBE YOUR WAY

If you had asked Byleth the night before what she had thought the looming stone building off in the distance was, she would have shrugged and given her best guess. Perhaps some hideaway for the noble elite, or an ancient ruin of days long past, maybe even some secret cult headquarters. While she wasn’t quite right, she was close enough, it turned out. Apparently it was a monastery. And not just any monastery, either. It was Garreg Mach monastery. As in the headquarters of the major religion of the continent. The one which apparently Jeralt had been a major member of in the past.

How had she not known this? Any of this?

Really the answer was quite simple- she had spent the majority of her formative years more engrossed in swordplay and mercenary life than in the going-ons of other Fodlanis. And then Almyra had happened. And then everything after.

Was it suddenly quite warm? The sun had risen, but they were in the forest, surely it should not be that warm? A glance at the rest of her traveling companions revealed that if they felt this sudden, oppressive heat, they showed no indications of it.

If anything, not much had changed since the fight with bandits that morning. Jeralt marched ahead of her, doing his best to not answer any of the persistent questions thrown his way by the other knights.

“You simply must tell me where you’ve been for the past twenty years!” Alois- was that his name? She thought that was his name- crowed, his moustache quivering with excitement as he trotted after Jeralt like a puppy.

“Around,” Jeralt said, his voice dry and humorless as he glanced back at Byleth. “The kid and I have been all over the place. Everywhere in Fodlan and even out of it as well.”

Byleth’s gaze turned to the ground as she desperately tried not to think of Almyra.

“You’ve been out of Fodlan?” Dimitri asked, incredibly unhelpful. “What was that like? I’ve never left Fodlan, but I imagine it is quite different!”

“I lived in Almyra for some time,” Byleth confirmed, her gaze solidly focused on the ground ahead of her. “It was good. It was home.”

“Home?” Edelgard asked from her other side.

“Yes.” Byleth’s throat suddenly felt so very dry. “Home. I had a life there. Friends. Plans. It was home. But now it is not.”

“Do you miss it?” Dimitri asked, his enthusiasm doing little to soften the blow of the words.

Did she miss Almyra? Did she miss the pine forests and bust marketplaces, the open plains and marble halls, the burning sun and crashing ocean, so distant, but so close? Did she miss the spice of the food, the roll of the language across her tongue, the stars in the sky, the warmth of a hand in hers?

“I used to. More than anything. So much at times I thought it would kill me,” Byleth responded, her body betraying her as she glanced, quick and unnoticed, at the last member of their group, silent and seemingly uninterested in their discussion. “But these days I’m not so sure.”

And still, he did not look over at her.

That, she thought, hurt worse than a blade in the back, worse than a nail in the foot. Worse than fire, burning its way through her skin. 

Her scar itched. 

And still Dimitri soldiered on, determination etched on his face as he attempted to entrap Byleth in a conversation.

“I’m terribly sorry about that,” he said. “But it is rather fortuitous for us that you are here now. We would have been in real trouble without your help! And you get to come see the monastery as well! This is your first time at the monastery, is it not? I’d be happy to show you around!”

“It really is Fódlan in a nutshell,” Claude finally spoke, closing his eyes and tilting his head back with a wry smile. Byleth wished, desperately, achingly, that he would look at her. “The good and the bad.”

His voice was easy, but his words were serious despite the light subject matter. The good and the bad. What did that mean? What did any of anything mean? Byleth felt entirely lost, her head nearly swimming from all that was happening around her. Her hands began to shake, her breath coming quicker. 

No. No, she would not have an episode. Not here. Not now. 

“Like it or not, we’ll be there soon enough,” Edelgard said, her gaze turned forward as they marched. Byleth turned her own gaze towards the girl, and the forward, onward. 

It was easiest that way.

But the presence beside her still called to her. 

She hoped they would arrive soon.

* * *

If nothing else, the monastery was beautiful. Large, stone archways lined lush courtyards, and stained glass cast colorful shadows on studying students, the clanging of practice swords and the hiss of magic filling the air like a chorus of war songs, harsh and sharp in its beauty. How strange, this place. An institution of religion and nobility, peace and war, the old stones standing guard of the youth of Fodlan. Contradictions upon contradictions, this place.

And now Byleth had become one of those contradictions as well. A mercenary, then a royal retainer, then a mercenary once more, and now a teacher. A young woman, just barely older than her students, thrust into a role where she would be in charge of their learning, their survival. No pressure or anything, Byleth.

And then there had been those church people. All of them green haired- was that a religious thing? Did all high ranking church members have to have green hair? She tried to picture her father with green hair, but the idea of it was so absurd she couldn’t even begin to imagine it. The church itself was odd enough, Byleth was slowly realizing, but those three, with their overly formal way of speaking and open mistrust- and over trust- of her were beyond off putting. Rhea especially had unnerved her, although Byleth could not exactly explain why. The woman had been so strange, and yet something about her was familiar nonetheless.

Perhaps it had something to do with the strangeness of that morning. That vision she’d had. The voice that was not her own voice that now lived in her mind.

Was she going crazy? That sounded like something a crazy person would say.

The curling feeling of dread that had been laying heavy in her stomach began to rise, hot and viscous in her veins as her vision began to swim and her hands began to shake. What was happening to her? What had happened that morning? 

Had she really turned back time?

Was she losing her mind?

Neither option was good. In fact, they were both bad. Very, very, very bad. 

The knight who had been guiding her through the monastery stopped in front of a door, at the end of the row of barracks. He said… something… to Byleth and gestured to the door. Her tongue was stone in her mouth, heavy and unmoving, so she nodded a quick thanks and ducked inside as quickly as she dared, closing the door tightly behind her. As the silence of the room settled around her, Byleth leaned her back against the wooden door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, legs tucked in tight against her chest as her panic rose. 

It had been years since her last panic episode. Byleth squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself against the tidal wave of mind numbing panic that threatened to wash over her, drown her in its dark depths.

She would not succumb now. She would not, she would not, she would not. 

She could not.

Unbidden, the voice of Judith rose from the depths of her memories, warm and kind as the day they had met, Byleth stumbling off of her horse, still in her bloody dress.

_ Even out your breathing, kid. In through your nose, hold, out through your mouth. Don’t let it consume you. You’ll get yourself killed on the battlefield that way. What use would you be then to that prince boy of yours? _

In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

Byleth breathed and breathed and breathed, long past the setting of the sun outside as she fought her body, her mind, her instincts. Slowly, slowly, she returned to herself, her breathing ragged in her chest and her muscles screaming as she unfolded herself. She winced as she finally, finally took a deep breath, the feeling of it steadying, grounding. 

A wave of exhaustion hit her, suddenly. It was not unexpected. When she had first started having episodes they would leave her immobile for days afterwards as she attempted to recover from the ordeal. These days she could usually sleep off the aftermath. She would need to. She had to choose her house the next day. 

She lifted herself off of the floor with a heavy sigh. The thought of spending her days instructing the children of the nobility was less than appealing at the best of times. She had had enough of them to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

Nobles.

Melik. Rabia. Volkan. Kerem. 

Claude. 

She knew that Claude was her Kerem. Knew it like she knew the back of her own hand, the smell of her father, the feeling of a blade in her hand. She knew it as surely as she knew that the sun would rise and the sun would set, that the tides would churn and the seasons change. That was her Kerem. She would know him anywhere, any time, in any life. 

But why was he going by Claude now? Why was he at Garreg Mach, of all places? Why was he posing as a Fodlani noble?

Why was he pretending he didn’t know her?

Why hadn’t he come?

She had waited for him. For two years. Two whole years spent at the edge of the border, eyes turned to the eastern sky, waiting for the day he would keep his promise. For the day he would come to her. 

They could have been together again. She could have kept him safe. Kept the smile on his face and warmth in his heart. 

He didn’t have that any more. 

Every word he had spoken to the others, to her father, indirectly to her, had been cold. Callous. Arrogant. The words of a spoiled boy. 

Byleth shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the thoughts of her Kerem. Her prince. Her friend. 

He was still in there somewhere, that boy. She was certain of that. She’d find him, the next day, and talk to him in private. He’d open up to her then, surely. She’d get her answers, tell him how she had missed him. They’d be friends again.

Byleth quickly dressed for bed, her feelings settling in her chest as she prepared for sleep. 

Tomorrow. Everything would change tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience for this chapter! I spent the week putting out fires at work and being a little distracted, ngl. But it's finally here!!
> 
> Robin- WILL TRADE SUCCULENT FOR PEACHES, PLEASE RESPOND

Of all of the places she had seen so far in the monastery- which admittedly had not been many- the library was by and far her favorite. Byleth had never seen so many books in one place before. The library at the palace in Kral Şehri had been sparse at best- a showy display of wealth rather than a collection of knowledge. But the library at Garreg Mach was its antithesis- crowded, dim, with dusty books crammed into every available nook and cranny of each shelf, groaning under the weight of more tomes than anyone could ever dream of reading in a single lifetime. 

She skimmed over the book in her hands, eyes catching on detailed illustrations of battle strategies and battalion formations. The pages were soft, fragile beneath her touch; made of fine paper and carefully printed ink. She wondered how long it had taken to write this book, to design its illustrations, to bind it. How many years of labor, she wondered, were in each book, each shelf, each case? How many eyes had seen what she had seen, how many hands had traced these same pages?

Above her, bells began to toll. A swell of panic began to build, as it always tended to do at the sound of bells, but she quashed it as best she could, reminding herself, as students and knights and faculty swarmed around her, that bells here did not herald death. Just the simple passing of time.

And time it was for her to meet with Rhea.

A knight had appeared at her door, that morning, requesting her presence in Rhea’s audience chamber at the noonday bell. Rhea wanted to meet with her. Something about an assignment. Byleth wasn’t quite sure what that meant- Rhea had wanted her as a teacher, not as a mercenary, hadn’t she? She was still highly unsure of what her new position would entail, but she was pretty sure that teachers didn’t do ‘assignments’. At least, not the kind she was used to. Perhaps Rhea had changed her mind after all? Decided that she would rather use Byleth’s skills as a mercenary than as an instructor?

Byleth sorely hoped so. As she made her way towards where she remembered- where she hoped she remembered- the audience chamber was, she wondered how and why she had received that offer in the first place. She had never taught anyone anything before.

Wait, no, that was a lie. But teaching a young prince the basics of swordplay in a forest clearing so very many years ago was not enough experience to teach an entire class of young adults. Not that anyone but herself and said prince and his father’s most favored retainer knew anything about those sessions anyways.

So why her? Because she hadn’t run? Was that all it took to be a teacher? To stand tall in the face of imminent danger? Certainly if that was all it took then any one of Jeralt’s men could be a teacher, so why her?

She passed an open classroom, her gaze sliding in and breath catching as she saw her Kerem, Claude, whatever he called himself these days, leaning over a table as he explained something to a group of students, his gestures cool and composed as the other students listened to him speak. He tried to hide it, she was sure of it, but Claude could not keep the Kerem she had known from shining through, his intensely intelligent eyes and thoughtful words drawing the group in from their individual activities to gather around him.

She had always known that Kerem would make a great leader some day. She just hoped that she wasn’t too late to see it.

\--

An Imperial Princess.

A future King.

And the future Duke Riegan.

Byleth’s head spun as she made her way out of Rhea’s audience chambers, each moment feeling less real than the one before. 

Duke Riegan. Her Kerem was the next Duke Riegan. Someday he would be the most powerful man in the Leicester Alliance. A prince and a duke. What else, she wondered, had he hid from her? What else had he not told her about? 

A dangerous, traitorous, twisted little part of her wondered if he was even this Claude person at all. How did she know that this wasn’t some scheme concocted by Clara- if that even was her real name- or the Almyran King?

A wave of fury suddenly crashed through her, burning hot and ear ringing as she made her way toward where she had seen Edelgard on her way to speak with Rhea and Hanneman and Manuela. What game were they playing, Clara and King Selim? What purpose would sending their son into enemy territory to pose as an heir to a large political alliance serve?

Worst of all- had Kerem been forced out? Or hand he gone willingly?

Byleth wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

She would speak to him about this later. And if Kerem was trying to pull something, if he didn’t tell her the full truth, then…

Well, she’d think of that later. 

The Almyrans weren’t the only schemers, after all.

—

Edelgard was astonishingly grounded and polite. For an Imperial Princess, Byleth had expected someone more… snooty? A little more grandiose, perhaps? But Edelgard was neither of those things, it seemed. She told Byleth of her house and it’s more notorious members with poise and light affection, her lavender eyes gazing critically at Byleth, who very suddenly felt as though she was a choice cut of meat beneath the eye of an experienced chef.

They were a polished house, the Black Eagles, or so it seemed. Magic wielding nobles for the most part, with gallant laughs and refined manners. Dignified, for the most part, if not haughty and self important.

An excellent house, Byleth was sure, but what would she, a mercenary turned retainer turned mercenary once more, be able to teach them? What good could she possibly bring to a house already so well established and cohesive?

—

Dimitri’s enthusiasm was charming, at first, but as they spoke Byleth noticed how very forced it seemed. He described his house, his friends, enthusiastically and candidly, but something in his tone set her on edge. It was different from how Edelgard had unnerved her, though, so she stuck around for a moment to watch his house train.

The Blue Lions were a different breed of nobility, it seemed. Rough hewn, as though forged from the icy rocks of northern Faerghus, these students knew their way around their weapons. With flashy moves and practiced swings she watched as they trained together, their easy movements speaking to years of friendship and battle tutelage. Those moves might not serve them well in battle- too showy, too many openings- but these students assuredly knew their way around their weapons. 

Byleth could work with that. Clean them up and show them how real fights played out, how to win and stay alive rather than just impress. There were a few squabbles, a few close calls, but it was a cohesive house, built on mutual trust and understanding.

And yet.

And yet.

\--

The Golden Deer came last. The sun was setting by the time she found Claude standing outside of their classroom, his face easy but eyes weary.

She had warned him about that before, how easy it was to read him by his eyes.

“Well, well. Scored a teaching gig here, did ya?” he asked, his eyes darting over her form before turning back to the other students passing by in the courtyard. “Talk about a great first impression.”

“I’m told I’m good at those. First impressions,” Byleth responded, her mind flashing to a shadowed alley, a short boy, heat on her skin and a favor asked. If Claude knew what she was referring to- and she doubted he did not- he made no indication of it, simply raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“I guess that means I’d better introduce myself properly,” he said. “I’m Claude von Riegan.”

“I wasn’t aware that the ruling house of the Leicester Alliance had an heir,” Byleth said. Claude shrugged.

“Until recently, I wasn’t either.”

“So tell me,” Byleth said, her voice slipping into a low murmur as she spoke in Almyran, “Why are you here, fourth son of the Almyran King, Prince Kerem Shahzada Sultan, future Khan of the southern provinces, he who walks the path of the arrow, blessed by the Gods of old, and favored in his father’s eyes?”

All color drained from Claude’s face as she spoke and by the time she finished his face was hard, cold.

“Get in the classroom,” he said, his voice low and cold and dangerous. “Now.”

Before she could even think to agree or to protest, Byleth found herself being pulled into the now empty classroom, the door slamming shut behind them. Claude whirled to face her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he told her.

“I waited for you,” she told him once more. He recoiled at that, turned, and began pacing through the classroom. “Why are you here, Kerem?”

“ _ Do not _ -” he began to almost plead, before taking a breath and recentering himself. “Do not call me that, Byleth.”

“Then what do I call you?” she asked, the hurt she had been repressing for so very, very long creeping its way up her throat and into her words. “Who are you, then? This… this Claude person? Who is he, Claude von Riegan, heir to the Leicester Alliance?”

“Claude von Riegan is me,” Claude said, his back still turned to her, shoulder stiff and standing straight. Part of her longed to go up to him, like she would have all those years ago. Go to him and stand by him, a hand on his shoulder. But this was not then, and Byleth did not move. “I am Claude von Riegan. I always have been, and I always will be.” His voice was soft, bitter.

“That’s a lie and you know it, Kerem!” she cried, Almyran heavy on her tongue.

“Do not call me that, Byleth Eisner, Ashen Demon,” he hissed, turning to face her. His face was cold, cruel, like that of his mother. She recoiled from the sight of it. “There is no Kerem, not any more. The boy you knew died years ago, alone and unwanted in a gilded cage, like a trained dog that nobody wants anymore. Do you understand me,  _ old friend _ ?” 

The words he spat shot through her like a poison tipped arrow, sending fire racing through her veins as she struggled to find a response to his cruel, callous tone.

“Maybe you’re right,” she threw her words at him, vicious and hurting. “Maybe he is dead. Because I don’t see the friend I once cherished before me. No, I see a rotten, distrustful, arrogant coward, who would run and hide before protecting a friend.”

“Oh?” Claude asked, his voice just barely louder than it had been before. “Do you now? And tell me, Byleth, how well did you know this Kerem of yours?”

“Better than you would think.” Byleth bristled at the implication. “The Kerem I knew would have found that shameful. Dishonorable. If he had known that this was his future then I wonder, Claude von Riegan, what he would have thought of that. Perhaps he would have asked me to let him die. Perhaps I would have let him.”

Claude, no longer Kerem, but only Claude, laughed sharp and brittle, his eyes dimming as she watched him lock himself away.

“I had hoped,  _ Professor _ , that we could reunite as friends some day,” he said, his voice dry and airy as he put his mask back in place. “But it seems I was mistaken. So let me warn you: do not choose to lead the Golden Dear. Turn your back to me, Ashen Demon, and you will be all the better for it. The Kerem you knew will never return, so do not go looking for him, and stay out of my way.”

With those final words he brushed past her, opened the door, and let it fall heavily shut behind him, leaving only Byleth and her open, aching chest.

She knew, now, what she had to do. 

It was time to tell Rhea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may?? Have to miss next week for updating, depending on my work situation, but I will be sure to keep y'all apprised on my twitter.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Sorry for the delay y'all. 50+ hour work weeks and a desperate need for self care during these times had to come first. But the chapter is finally written, so I hope y'all enjoy and are staying safe! I can't confirm when I'll be able to post next because of work, but I promise the story is still being worked on, even if it takes another three weeks (hopefully it won't but. who knows).
> 
> Robin- hyonk

To call the Golden Deer ‘a mess’ would have been a gross understatement, Byleth quickly came to realize. True, she had decided to lead their house in a moment of self-righteous spite- although she preferred to think that her intuition guided her to her decision- but upon watching the group bicker and squabble disjointedly amongst themselves- Claude looking at her evenly, emotionlessly, through it all- she realized that if any of the houses would need her guidance, this would be the one.

So they weren’t a cohesive team. Not even pretending to be one. 

She could work with that.

Step one was to take time to speak with each student one on one. Figure out who the leaders were, the influential students, the oddballs and the outcasts. Determine the social structure of this house. She spent her first official day as a teacher at Garreg Mach doing just that. Besides Claude- everyone seemed to have thoughts and opinions on Claude- a list quickly began to form in her mind of who was important, who needed help, and who was totally insufferable. She thanked each student who spoke with her in kind, making mental notes on names, places of birth, favorite foods, mannerisms. Know your allies well, her father had always told her.

He also had followed that statement with “and know your enemies better”, but Byleth didn’t have any enemies at the present moment, so it was probably best to just know her allies really, really, well.

Step two was to find said key students, which was apparently easier said than done. She had been searching for the pink haired Hilda for almost an hour before she came across another of the Golden Deer on her list, deciding to put the girl on the back burner as she watched in almost stunned disbelief as Lorenz tried (and failed horrendously) to flirt- was that flirting? She wasn’t sure- with a female student from the Black Eagle house. The poor girl looked tremendously uncomfortable, and each time she tried to speak up and excuse herself he would talk over her, ignoring her in order to continue to laud himself. Eventually the girl, obviously beyond frustrated, stood up from where she had been seated and stormed off, leaving a flabbergasted and almost offended Lorenz behind. 

A noble boy with a listening problem and an ego to match, that one. 

Great.

But perhaps the rest of her students would be less difficult. Sure, she was teaching in a hotbed of nobility, but they couldn’t all be that bad, right?

* * *

Wrong. She was so, so wrong. As Byleth dragged herself back to her room that evening, she felt as though she had been through the most grueling training gauntlet of her life, and she hadn’t even picked up a weapon once that day. 

How was she supposed to take these students into battle? A mock battle, yes, but a battle nonetheless. Could she trust them to watch her back on the battlefield? To watch each other’s backs? 

The answer was a clear, resounding, no. 

How was it possible, she wondered, for an entire class of students to be so self-absorbed to the point where she was honestly debating throwing the mock battle then and there? They would not win like that. They could not win like that. But more importantly, they could not, would not survive like that.

What had she gotten herself into?

What had Claude gotten himself into?

Byleth opened the door to her room, shaking her head at the thought, as though she could cast away all of the hurt and unpleasant memories that came with it. She hadn’t seen him once while she had been out, but that was probably for the best. He had been distant, cooly polite, when he had introduced her to the rest of his house. Like a stranger introducing another stranger. Considering how their encounter had gone the day before that it was really no surprise, but it had stung nonetheless.

With a sigh she eyed her bed longingly, but forced herself to sit at her desk and pull out a quill, dipping into an unstoppered inkpot before beginning to make herself notes.

_ GOLDEN DEER _

The quill stilled for a moment, a drop of ink splashing against the parchment as her eyes caught on the words. Something about those two words made her breath tremble in her chest with a sense of awe, of fear, of… of something she couldn’t quite name but the feeling of it was heady and intoxicating, like a sweet summer wine.

Byleth took a deep, centering breath, and began to write. She wrote down names, physical details, strengths, weaknesses. She catalogued traits, weapon preferences, relationships, who was friends and who were enemies and who couldn’t stand who and who was madly in love with another. Distant, lazy, haughty, aloof, single-minded, over-competitive, feeble, gloomy. Everything she had seen, heard, observed. Every statement, every comment, every rumor. All of it flowed from her mind to her hand to the paper below, sheets upon sheets of parchment filled with her scratchy lettering as she recalled everything from that day.

It was cathartic, in a way, as she scribbled her notes- releasing days worth of confusion and questions and frustrations and irritations onto paper as she worked to organize and rationalize her thoughts, ideas, feelings.

By the time she finished writing her candle had burned out twice over, and the moon was high in the sky. Her wrists and fingers ached horribly, but as she skimmed over her writings and plans and thoughts and ideas she felt, suddenly and inexplicably, far more ready to face the whole ‘teaching’ thing than she had before.

* * *

“And then he says to me, ‘Manuela, you’re a lovely woman, but at the end of the night I cannot foresee happiness between us.’ I tell you, I was shaken! Everything had been going so well!” Manuela cried, slamming her hand down on the desk. Byleth quirked an eyebrow at the dramatic storytelling, not entirely sure what the tangent had to do with the topic they had been originally speaking about.

She was coming to find that each of the other instructors at Garreg Mach were somehow odder than the last. She had figured if she was going to be teaching, might as well get advice from those who had more experience than her. But Jeritza had refused to talk to her- she knew that she was pretty quiet herself, but that man was like a _ rock _\- and she was still very much intimidated by Seteth and the way he looked at her like he knew things about her that she didn’t and he did not approve, so she had decided to speak to Manuela and Hanneman instead. Hanneman had also wanted to scan her for a crest- silly, really- so hey, two birds, one stone.

But this? This was starting to get out of hand.

“I’m… sorry?” she offered lamely. Manuela gave a dramatic sniff, dabbing daintily at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief she had pulled from seemingly nowhere.

“Men are horrid, really and truly horrid,” Manuela said. “Now tell me, Miss Eisner, how can I help you today?”

“I’ve never taught before.” Byleth explained simply. “Do you have any advice?”

Manuela blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Never? You’ve _ never _ taught before?”

Byleth nodded.

“Then how on earth did you manage to get a teaching position here?” Manuela wondered aloud, voicing the same concerns that had been plaguing Byleth.

She simply shrugged. Manuela shook her head and sighed, rising from her seat to peruse a shelf crammed with books in the very back of her office. After a moment’s deliberation, she selected two of them, returning to her desk and placing them on the solid wood.

“I’m not great with practical advice, but these may be of some use to you,” she said, sliding the books to Byleth. “If you really want good advice from someone who knows what they’re doing, ask Hanneman. He’s a pompous ass, but he’s been doing this far longer than I have.”

Byleth scooped up the books perhaps a tad too eagerly, and nodded her thanks to the older woman, who watched her leave pensievely, perhaps wondering as well why and how Byleth’s teaching position came to be.

* * *

Hanneman was Manuela’s antithesis in everything from mannerisms to lifestyle to interior design choices. His office was crowded with heavy bookshelves crammed with books and scrolls, parchment with frantic notes splayed haphazardly about every spare surface. He’d listened intently as Byleth explained once more her lack of knowledge and experience in the world of education. Byleth showed him the books that Manuela had given her, and he hummed as he flipped through them, muttering under his breath as he shook his head. 

“That’s all fine and well,” he said finally, “But let’s start with the basics.”

Hanneman explained the basics of teaching to her. He showed her how he made lesson plans, explained lessons and classing and exams and homework and tests and how to gauge student comprehension in various subjects. He told her of how some students learned in some ways, while others learned in other ways. He answered each of her questions with the calm assuredness of a seasoned teacher, and by the time they had finished Byleth was feeling as though she might possibly be able to handle being a teacher- if only for a year. She thanked him profusely, and got up from her seat to leave.

“Say, while you’re here,” Hanneman said, standing as well, “I’d like to use this device I designed to determine whether the power of a Crest resides within you. Won’t hurt a bit, promise!”

“Alright,” Byleth agreed, apprehensious but willing nonetheless, especially since the man had just spent the better part of his afternoon gracing her with his advice. “I’ll admit I know almost nothing about Crests- my father certainly doesn’t have one.”

Hanneman’s eyes lit up.

“You don’t know about Crests? How very odd, I was under the impression that every Fodlani knew about them- they’re an integral part of our continent’s history, after all. Regardless, allow me to tell you everything- absolutely everything- about them! Is your calendar clear? This could take a while.”

Byleth sat back down, and Hanneman followed, pausing to collect his thoughts before he began his second lecture of the day.

“Crests are a fascinating topic,” he said finally, stroking his mustache, “but before one can dive deeply into said topic, one must first understand what Crests are. They are power incarnate. They are said to have been bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. They exist within the flesh, and are passed down through bloodlines. Those who carry Crests may excel at magic, display exceptional strength, or any number of boons.”

_ Magic. _

_ Heat on her back, ringing in her ears, the smell of burning skin. _

_ Darkness. _

Byleth took a deep breath, shaking her mind free of her memories.

“Each Crest has its own power,” Hanneman continued, unaware of how her thoughts had strayed to another land, another time, a regal woman with more secrets than she could count, “the nature of which is beyond mortal understanding. For now.” He chuckled, as though it was a kind of joke that only he understood.

  
Perhaps it was.

“And what, you believe I have a Crest?” Byleth asked, keeping her voice lightly amused. “I can guarantee that my father carries no super powers.”

Clara’s voice- _ Who is your mother, child? _

“Ah, but you’re only half your father,” Hanneman pointed out, eerily in tune. “Do you know who your mother was?”

Byleth could only shake her head no.

“Regardless, we won’t know for sure unless I look into the matter. As I said, Crests are passed down through the blood. However, just because someone carries a Crest does not necessarily mean their descendants will inherit it as well. Only a scarce few descendants of a Crest’s bloodline end up inheriting that Crest’s power.” Hanneman paused for a moment, as though lost in thought. Suddenly, he came back to himself, clearing his throat as he continued. “It is possible that your mother or one of your ancestors on either side could have born a crest, and you just so happened to inherit it. That is how a Crest usually presents itself, after all. That, or in situations of extreme duress, but we won’t be putting you through anything like that.” 

“Well,” Byleth sighed, “Then go right ahead. Do what you can to find out.”  
  
Hanneman lit up like a child given a new toy, gesturing her to come stand over a strange device on a nearby table.

“Now then, please go ahead and hold out your arm over this device here,” he instructed her. Byleth lifted her arm over the device, finding that she didn’t quite care whether he was lying or not about it being painless.

The device glowed purple.

Hanneman’s eyes grew wide.

A symbol appeared below her.

“Oh, my,” Hanneman gasped, practically shoving her aside to gaze at the curving, interconnected lines that appeared.

“What? What’s wrong?” Byleth asked, her voice cracking ever so very slightly.

“Nothing, my dear!” Hanneman cried. “Nothing at all!”

His gaze turned to her, reverent and excited, and Byleth found that despite his assurances, she was suddenly very, very nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point in the chapter, I list off eight adjectives (Distant, lazy, haughty, aloof, single-minded, over-competitive, feeble, gloomy). If you can guess which characters I'm referring to- in order- you win internet points :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 23 is a go!
> 
> Robin- KENTUCKY

Talk of the upcoming battle had gripped the school and its students, consuming every conversation, every piece of gossip, every passing comment in the halls of Garreg Mach. Winners varied from year to year, it seemed, with wins spread rather equally between the three houses, but this year would be different. This year, the three future leaders of each nation within Fodlan would be competing against one another, and though on the surface it all seemed like friendly banter and lighthearted jibes, tension simmered beneath the surface, and nobody seemed immune to it.

They had called it ‘a friendly competition’, but even Byleth could tell there was more to it than that.

Nevertheless, she was determined to win, for her students to win. She was not by any means a teacher- not yet, at least- but she had her pride to contend with and a point to prove. To who, she was not quite sure, but nevertheless she spent her night sifting through the reading that Hanneman and Manuela had given her, drafting up assignments and training plans for her students. She had yet to see them in action- besides Claude, of course- but she had no doubt that the work she had assigned to each of them would at least sharpen their skills enough to give them an edge on the battlefield.

It would not be much, Byleth acknowledged to herself as she delivered the assignments to her students that night, but she would take what she could get.

* * *

The morning of the mock battle dawned bright and clear, and the monastery buzzed with activity as knights and staff rushed about to prepare for the approaching event. She still found it quite odd how much effort was being put into a mock battle. It was not even a formal event, as far as she knew, and affected nothing outside of the event itself.

Nobles and their oddities. She wasn’t sure she would ever understand them.

A flash of yellow caught her eye as she passed through the halls.

“Claude!” she called, unable to stop herself from catching his attention as well. The ever present knot in her stomach tightened as he stopped, his gaze landing on her. His eyes flashed in a way she couldn’t decipher, but his face remained smooth and easy as he approached.

She could do this. She could talk to him. As his teacher.

“Teach,” he greeted. Byleth’s tongue felt dry in her mouth as she cleared her throat, nodding at his greeting. That greeting would take time to get used to, a perpetual reminder of their difference in position. How odd, to feel further apart as teacher and student than they had ever been as Prince and attendant. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to go over our strategy for today,” she said, as truthfully as possible. And it was, on some level, the truth. She did want to go over strategy. But part of her longed to do it the way they had as children, pouring over books together, analyzing patterns and joking about formations, the thought of the future that would come for them someday as far from their minds as anything. Claude hummed thoughtfully.

“Hmmm, how should we go about this…” he wondered aloud, his airy tone showing just how seriously he was taking this: not at all. For some reason, this grated on Byleth’s nerves, a shot of irritation flashing through her body as she attempted to determine if his act was just that- an act- or if he was legitimately unconcerned with this event. “Well, you’ll be our commander, that much is for sure. Just don’t screw it up and everything’ll be great. Got it, Teach?”

Claude reached out to pat her on the shoulder, and Byleth felt her blood boil in her veins.

“Claude-” she began, her tone warning. He held up his hands placatingly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help too,” he said. “I mean, I’m kind of obligated to. For example, if I add a little something to their food to upset their stomachs…”

He winked at her playfully, and Byleth’s breath caught in her throat.

_ Kerem, pale and sweaty as he fought for his life, body straining as it fought off the poison. _

_ _

_ Guards at the door, yelling at her in a language she did not yet understand, fear and some deeper instinct rooting her to the spot, the only thought in her mind to keep the boy prince safe. _

_ _

_ Blood on her teeth as she snarled and fought as best as she could. _

_ _

_ Kerem, struggling to stand straight as he claimed her as his, publicly and unrepentantly, his voice wheezing as he struggled to breathe, his own mother looking on in amusement as she played her publicity games. _

_ _

“Teach?” Claude’s voice now, not Kerem’s.

Kerem was dead. Claude had told her as much. Spat it at her like the venom that had almost killed him.

Perhaps, in a way, it really _had_ killed him; killed the part of him that she had once been so very close to.

“Teach, are you ok?” His voice was less jovial now, almost bordering on concerned. Byleth breathed, deep and steady.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, unable to hide the tremor in her hands despite the evenness of her voice. Claude’s brows furrowed, and his mouth opened as if to… well, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Well, well. What a fascinating conversation you two seem to be having,” Edelgard called from across the room, quickly approaching, Dimitri just steps behind her. “May we join?”

“Claude, I can’t believe you would stoop to such crooked schemes to gain the advantage!” Dimitri scolded. “Have you no honor?”

“If that was really my scheme,” Claude said, rolling his eyes as he turned to face the other two house leaders, stepping in front of Byleth as he spoke, “I wouldn’t be talking about it out in the open. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until our battle to see what’s really in store.”

“It’s irrelevant anyhow. Whatever you have planned won’t save you from a crushing defeat,” Edelgard declared, her voice skirting on haughty as she postured.

“She has a point,” Dimitri said wryly. “Still, I’m rather eager to see what sort of schemes that mind of yours conjures up.”

“You heard them, Teach,” Claude said, stepping to the side to allow her into the conversation, tossing a playful wink her way. “We can’t let these fine folks down!”

Byleth took another steadying breath, tucking her hands behind her back as she turned her sharp look onto Claude, then Edelgard, then Dimitri.

“The Golden Deer will win today,” she told them all. “And we will do it without losing our morals.”

Edelgard and Dimitri looked mollified for the moment, but Claude looked confused, almost disappointed.

“Teach-” he began, only to be cut off by a shrill greeting from the other end of the hallway. Byleth turned to face Manuela and Hanneman as they approached, doing her best to pretend that the honest and good boy she had once known had not just suggested poisoning his classmates, even as a joke. Anger, betrayal, irritation, more emotions than she could name all bubbled beneath her skin as she processed what had just happened, what had just been said.

Some lines, Byleth noted, could not be crossed. Some jokes could not be tolerated. And as she left with the other two teachers to attend their meeting she swore to herself that despite who Claude had become, she would not let him sink into this horrid persona any farther.

Maybe they were no longer friends, allies. But she was still his teacher, and she would use every tool in her arsenal to ensure that Claude did not become the type of man that Kerem would have hated.

* * *

Byleth had assumed that the battle would be a good way to work off her frustrations from that morning.

She had not expected to be left with more than she had begun with.

Byleth watched as her students celebrated on the field, cheering and patting each other’s backs in the dying light of the sun. The Blue Lions and the Black Eagles had all left, slinking off of the field to like their wounds and regroup and strategize, no doubt.

“Well, that sure was something,” Jeralt’s voice, low and gravelly, came from behind her. “If those were my men, celebrating after a win like that…”

“If they were your men,” Byleth said, her voice quiet in its rage, “They would be dead. All of them. If this had been a real battle with real weapons, I would be the only one left alive.”

Jeralt hummed his agreement.

“Want me to give them a talking to?” he offered. Byleth turned to face him, shaking her head as she planned out her next move.

“No,” she told him. “But thank you. I am their teacher, so it is my responsibility to correct the errors made today.”

Jeralt grinned and patted her shoulder.

“Go get ‘em, kiddo,” he said. “And if you need a punching bag afterwards, I have a few knights that I need beaten into shape.”

Byleth nodded her thanks and left his side, making her way across the field to the joyful group.

“Teach!” Claude called as she approached. “What a battle, huh? Way to go! I think-”

“Quiet, all of you,” she snapped. Confused silence fell over the group like a sudden downpour of rain, cold and unforgiving. “Why are you celebrating?”

“Uh, because we won?” Hilda offered, her voice unsure as she glanced at her other classmates.

“You didn’t win,” Byleth responded. “None of you did. I won. I was the last man standing. You all did not win. No, you’re all dead.”

“Dead?” Lorenz gasped, affronted. “Why, Professor, did you hit your head? As you can see we are all quite-”

“Dead,” Byleth said, pointing to Lorenz. “Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.” She pointed to each student in turn. “If this had been a real battle, each and every one of you would be dead on the battlefield, left to rot, nothing more than a meal for crows and carrion. I must say, I am so far beyond disappointed in all of you right now. Do you expect me to believe that that was the best you could do? That the commoners and nobility of the Leicester Alliance alike could do little more than roll over like a dog and bare their stomachs to the enemy?”

“But Teach, this was just for fun-” Claude began to protest. Byleth whirled on him, watching him freeze in place as he took in the deadly calm of her face and the fury in her eyes.

“And you, Claude von Riegan. I am disappointed in you the most. Is this your leadership style, then? Treat everything as a joke and let others take the fall for your inability to lead? Because let me tell you, von Riegan, that is the easiest way to lose the trust of your men, your people. Continue like that and in five years’ time you’ll be dead, mark my words, either by your own inability or as a consequence of your failures as a leader. Tell me, is that what you want? The ruination of your Alliance? The reproach of you allies? The blood of innocents smeared across your brow?”

Claude was silent, staring wide eyed at Byleth. She looked at him and sighed, turning back to the stunned group.

“From now on, each of you is to take every mission, every assignment, as though it were life or death. I am not here to be your friend. I am not here to be your comrade in arms. I am here to keep you all from falling onto the wrong end of a sword, which I can already see will be more difficult than I imagined. You will take this institution, my word, and my lessons as seriously as the grave. If you do not, I can assure you that I will have you removed from the academy and replaced with someone who will.”

Could she do that? She wasn’t sure, but judging by the sudden nervous energy that had overtaken the gathered students, they believed her bluff.

“Be at the training grounds tomorrow morning at sunrise. We have much to cover,” Byleth ordered, turning to leave. She took two steps before stopping, turning her head to face the gathered group once more. “Don’t be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter based on the fact that in my first 3H play through I was the only member of my house left on the field at the end of the battle?
> 
> Possibly.
> 
> Definitely no chapter next week, as I already know that I will be working at least 60 hours. In the meantime though feel free to check out the two new fics I have uploaded, if you haven't already! One is Claudeleth, one is Hildagard!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all and welcome to chapter 24 of AMD!
> 
> A few notes before we begin-
> 
> For those who do not follow me on twitter- I know that Claude and his mother now have canon names. However, I will not be changing them in this story. If you don't like that, you are welcome to stop reading my story. Also, I am not female. Please do not refer to me as 'girlfriend/chick/lady/etc'. I am non-binary, my pronouns are they/them/theirs, and I'd appreciate not being misgendered in the comments in the future. Thanks!
> 
> Robin- Bro. Bro.

Nobody was late for training. 

They yawned and grumbled under their breath, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes as Byleth took in their slouching postures and uneven line formations. Only Claude stood at full, unbroken attention as she entered the arena, drawing the attention of all of the students gathered before her.

It was not much, but then again- men did not become mercenaries overnight. Or soldiers, rather, but really the basics were essentially the same.

“Good morning,” Byleth greeted them, her voice cutting through any remaining chatter. “Tomorrow when I arrive, I expect you all to be standing in even rows and at attention.”

Looks of disbelief flashed between students.

“For now,” Byleth said, stopping dead center in front of the gathered students, “We will begin with running five laps around the monastery.”

Gasps and outraged protests exploded from the gathered group. 

“You will be running five full laps around the outer wall of the monastery.” Byleth continued, ignoring the looks of horror and resentment being shot her way. “Anyone who does not complete all five laps will not be eating today. Now, go!”

A few took off immediately, but the rest hung back, unsure in their hesitation.

“You have to the count of three,” Byleth said, looking down to examine her nails. “One.”   
  


More left.

“Two.”

Only a few remained, perhaps out of stubbornness or pride, she wasn’t sure.

“Three.”

Byleth was alone in the arena. She snorted and let out a weary sigh as she stretched before jogging out the door herself to join her students.

The day was only just beginning.

* * *

By the time the last student came stumbling back into the arena, wheezing and gasping for breath as they collapsed onto the sand floor with the rest of the out of breath students. A few still remained standing, though even they looked pale and drained. The sun had risen in the sky, and breakfast had long ended. Byleth let out a shrill whistle, capturing the attention of the weary group gathered before her as she walked to the front of the arena, outwardly unbothered by the warm up excepting for a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Next up,” she began, raising her voice over a chorus of groans, “I will be personally assessing your current combat capabilities.”   
  
“You mean there’s  _ more _ ?” Hilda cried, several others nodding their exhausted agreement.

“Hilda, thank you for being our first volunteer,” Byleth said, turning to face the girl, hands coming to rest on her hips in a no-nonsense pose. “Would anyone else like to volunteer, or do I have to pick someone?”

* * *

Two by two the students fought, weary and sluggish and unused to the level of physicality Byleth was wringing from them. She watched carefully as they battled, noting strengths and weaknesses, surprising talents and old injuries. She said nothing as she watched, stance solid and face impassive as pair by pair the Golden Deer spelled out to her their capabilities. 

Finally, one student remained, the uneven numbers of the Golden Deer working exactly in her favor. 

“Professor!” Lorenz called from where he sat at the edge of the arena, nursing a bruise on his jaw leftover from his lost fight with Raphael, “Claude has yet to fight!”

“I am aware,” Byleth said, finally moving from her position as she strode forward into the sand. “Claude, in the ring with me.”

Claude strutted into the ring, head high and eyes sharp, as though he too had been expecting this outcome. The remainder of the Golden Deer watched on in sharp silence as teacher and student circled one another.

Claude struck first, his wooden sword swinging down on her in a testing strike. The crack of wood on wood thundered through the arena. Byleth parried easily, and the two began to circle each other.

_ “Hold your sword higher, no like this.” Byleth adjusted Kerem’s grip. “You hold it like it’s about to turn around and bite you. If you don’t hold it with confidence, you’ll hurt yourself.” _

Byleth lunged, swiping at the air by Claude’s left ear, piercing through the phantom memories as she dropped to the ground and kicked out at his ankles. A dirty move, perhaps, but a mercenary didn’t fight for honor. Claude’s brow furrowed, as though suddenly realizing that Byleth was fighting him for real, and not just for show. He dodged, a gleam in his eyes. The two traded blows and kicks and dodges, the sound of their grunts and their swords the only noise in the room as everyone else watched breathlessly. 

Byleth lunged once more, something welling tightly within her chest as Claude continued to dodge each movement, each swing. Years had passed and yet he still was able to follow her with ease. Moreso, now that he had apparently gotten something of a proper sword education.

He was still awful with it, though. Who held their sword like a club, honestly?

Still they danced around each other, an unending back and forth of testing and prodding as Byleth worked to gage where his skills laid these days, and as he tried to beat her.

A sound, a scrape of a shoe against stone. Byleth’s eyes flew to the assembled crowd.

She barely dodged the next blow, throwing herself to the ground as Claude’s blade sang through the air, right where her head had been just moments before. She rolled away, that something in her chest near bursting as she realized that in her escape her dagger had come loose from its holster.

The blue sheath lay between them, the unspoken taunt of it burning through her veins as Claude took in the sight of it. His eyes blew wide for just a moment, and Byleth knew then that she had to end the fight. No more toying, no more testing. She needed them all out, and she needed them out now.

Springing to her feet, Byleth used the one card she knew that Claude would not expect to be in her deck.

She steadied herself, her feet sure in their motions despite the years it had been since she had last practiced the moves that had been taught to her so very long ago, in a cold stone dungeon beneath the palace of Kral Sehri. 

Step, turn, step, twist, lunge.

A wooden sword at Claude’s throat. His face calm as his eyes surged with something,  _ something _ , as Byleth stepped like a dancer, like an Almyran warrior, like a long dead friend and sister. Blue eyes met green. An eon stretched between them, tight with words unsaid and choices unmade, the smell of an Almyran night and fresh blood freely given spilling between the cracks in the stones. Memories of a lifetime long gone by.

They stood there for a beat, then two, before Claude broke free of the enchantment first.

“Alright, I admit defeat. Very impressive, _.” He said, turning back to his classmates. “Now that we’re all done, are we free to go.”   
  
Byleth could only nod.

* * *

The smell of the campfire washed over Byleth’s senses as she patrolled the campsite, glancing from student to student before returning to gaze out into the forest surrounding their campsite. 

A mission to quell bandits. Many of them would be facing their first kills. 

She wondered if any of them would die.

Despite the trouble they had given her in the past weeks, the thought of any of her students perishing in a battle with a mere bandit put a sour taste in her mouth. 

It hadn’t been enough time, not by far. She understood the importance of their mission. She understood- on some level- why the church (Rhea) had asked her to take on their mission. But her students were woefully unprepared. 

Like lambs to a slaughter, and she the shepherd leading them.

“You’re going to wear a trench into the ground if you keep pacing like that,” Claude’s voice, low and quiet, flowed through the night air like silk. She stopped in her tracks, turning to face him. 

He stood several paces behind her, shoulders slouching and hair mussed from sleep. He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the rest of the sleeping Deer before coming to stand beside her.

The two stood side by side for some time, quiet as they gazed out into their surroundings. 

“You should be asleep,” Byleth said finally, unable to tear her gaze from the tree line. “We reach the Red Canyon tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t get comfortable,” Claude admitted. “Too many years spent sleeping in the lap of luxury, I guess.”

Byleth snorted, remembering the days of their youth spent sleeping outdoors, in stables, on the roof. Claude made a curious noise, but Byleth shook her head, turning instead to continue her loop around the camp. Not a moment later Claude was beside her, their shoulders brushing, the heat of his skin searing through his shirt and blazing against her arm.

She was suddenly, harshly, brutally aware of him. 

Byleth stepped away.

If Claude noticed he made no indication of it.

Byleth stopped in her tracks at the edge of camp.

“You should rest, Claude,” she tried again. “As your commanding officer-”

“You still have the knife,” he said.

Byleth’s breath caught in her throat at his statement. Almost unconsciously her hand drifted to it, settling on it as though to… to what, she wasn’t quite sure.

“I do.” She confirmed, keeping her voice as even as she was able, despite the sudden heaviness of her breathing and tremor in her fingers.

“Why?” He asked.

The question echoed around her. Why, why, why? Why keep the knife once in Fodlan? Why cling to it in her sleep when her dreams became too much to bear? Why polish and sharpen and oil it, when it never left the safety of its sheath?

Why hold on to the symbol of a land that would see her dead?

She had asked herself these questions what must have been thousands of times before, and still she could not answer. Something sharp and bitter welled in her throat, and Byleth found herself turning away from Claude.

“What does it matter?” She asked quietly. “What does a Fodlani noble boy care for an old dagger from another land? Anyone who should care- could care- is long dead.” Her voice cracked on that final word, and she heard Claude’s breath catch in his throat.

“You’re right.” He sighed, turning his own back to her in turn. “Of course you are. You always were.”

Something in her snapped at that.

“And what would  _ you _ know about that, Claude?” She nearly hissed. “Either Kerem is dead or he isn’t, so make up your mind and stick to your story.”

“Kerem  _ is  _ dead, Professor.” Claude said, his own voice frosty. Byleth almost flinched. Almost. “He has to be.”

For the briefest of moments Byleth wanted to ask what he meant by that. The small, hidden, part of her that still cared for Kerem longed to burst free from her chest and make itself known- to demand an explanation to Claude’s words. Not that Kerem was dead, but rather that he  _ had _ to be. What did that mean? She wanted to turn around, to grab him by his newly broad shoulders, still smelling inexorably of pine, and shake him until he answered her.

But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let that weakness show, not now. She had more important things to worry about than cryptic phrases from the ghost of a dead friend. She had a class now, students relying on her to keep them safe and alive, and she could not do that with such distractions swirling tempestuously in her mind. So once more she tucked away that soft, tender little part of her, placed it under lock and key, and forced herself to remain motionless, until finally, finally, Claude sighed and began to walk away.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning, Professor.” He said. 

And once again, Byleth was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baaaaack! Thank you for your patience everyone, I needed some time for real life stuff and research, but I’m back in the saddle! Updates will still be slow as I move in less than a month and packing is a nightmare, but it’s good to be off my hiatus.
> 
> Robin- you’re the juice to my rat, bro.

Raphael had been the first to die.

Byleth winced as the scalding tea hit her lips, a curse spilling unbidden from her mouth as she placed the steaming cup down on her desk. Wasn’t tea supposed to calm the nerves? So much for that.

Jeralt looked up from where he sat on her bed, concern carved into the grooves of his face. Morning light spilled through her window, highlighting his scars and the dark circles under her eyes.

He hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything since he had arrived at her door some time before. She wasn’t sure how he had known that she needed him, wasn’t sure how he had known that she hadn’t slept, but she was thankful for his quiet presence as visions of her students, mauled and dead, danced behind her eyes.

Raphael had been the first to die. Pierced through by a sword as he celebrated landing a crushing hit to a bandit, his face going blank with shock as his eyes glazed over and—and—

_ The smell of blood, of ocean waves, of perfumed flowers as a princess died to save a commoner— _

And then it had happened again. That flash of heat, the ringing in her eyes, the world around her going white in a way that had always used to proceed a panic episode. But that time it had been different, just like in the forest all those weeks prior when she had come face to face with her Kerem once again.

A flash of green, a wave of calm, the distant sound of a song, as old as time.

Byleth had opened her eyes and watched as Raphael struck his opponent.

“Keep moving!” she yelled to him, praying the panic in her voice had not been too obvious. Regardless of if it had or not, Raphael heard her call and ran off to assist Ignatz, who was fumbling with the bow that Byleth had given him. 

“Kiddo.” Jeralt’s voice pulled her back into the present, pulled her gaze back to him. “Is everything—” 

“Rabia died in my arms,” Byleth said, the words tumbling from her raw heart and into her mouth before she could reign them in. “My final day in Almyra. Her brother tried to kill me, and she took a death blow to save my life.”

Jeralt said nothing for many long moments.

“When I was out there, with my students,” Byleth’s voice began to tremble, “I kept seeing them die. I watched as they—”

She paused, unsure of how to explain what had happened, what she had done. Because she had done  _ something _ . But how could she explain to her father, watching her as stoically as always, the strange power that lied in her bones, that surged just below her skin, that tingled at the tips of her fingers in a way that nothing else ever had.

“And it makes me wonder,” she whispered to him, to the room, to the stars in the sky and the being in her head. “It makes me wonder if I could have saved her.”

And it hit her, then. How unfair these powers were, how desperately she had needed them then, how hard she had reached for that  _ something _ inside of her. She had pulled and pulled and pulled with all of her strength as though something inside of her had known of this power. And because she had failed, because she had not been strong enough, tough enough, had not dug deep enough, because Byleth had failed to turn back the time for Rabia, she would have to live the rest of her days without her closest friend. The wound in her chest, the hole left by Rabia and Melik and the goodness of childhood innocence throbbed as it was torn open once again, bloody and raw and oozing.

Rabia had been bold, courageous. She should have lived a life as beautiful as she had been.

But she never would, and Byleth could blame no one but herself.

“Could I have saved her?” she asked again. The presence in her mind was silent.

“No,” Jeralt said, finally. “You couldn’t have.”

Jeralt rose from her bed and made his way to her desk. Though it was only a few steps, it seemed as though an eternity passed in the time it took for him to stand before her. Byleth opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but before a single sound could leave her throat, Jeralt had pulled her into a hug.

Jeralt hadn’t hugged her in years. Not since the day they were reunited outside of the Daphnel manor.

He still smelled of horses and leather and sweat, but Byleth breathed it in heavily rather than wrinkle her nose at it. Slowly her own arms wound their way around his body, and if he noticed how she shook then he did not say anything about it. Jeralt simply held her, his strong arms grounding her, surrounding her with his presence and holding together the unraveling pieces of her heart as she mourned once again for the life that could have been, the life that could no longer be.

Slowly, slowly, she returned to herself. Her face was dry- she hadn’t cried once since the death of Rabia- but her body no longer trembled beneath the weight of her past, her present. Slowly, slowly, visions of Rabia’s body, of Raphael’s blank eyes, of Marianne’s snapped neck and Lorenz’s mangled leg faded from her sight, tucked away in that little hidden box of horrors in the back of her mind that had popped open unbidden. 

“You couldn’t have saved her,” Jeralt rumbled, his mellow voice soothing away the last of the wrinkles in Byleth’s face. She allowed herself to lean in closer, let his sturdiness hold her, support her. “If someone is meant to die, then you cannot change their fate, no matter how hard you try. Trying to do so, letting your mind become overwhelmed with what-ifs and could-have-beens will do you no good. It’s okay to mourn, Byleth, but don’t let tragedy and loss rule you. Let it guide you, but don’t let it define you.” 

Byleth breathed in his scent once more before she loosened her arms from around him and let go, retreating back onto her desk chair. Jeralt went back to her bed, and sat down.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, kiddo? About Almyra or about your first mission with your kids?” he asked, lips quirking into a smile that he only seemed to give to her.

Byleth paused. Could she tell him? Would he understand?

Before she could question herself any further, Byleth began to tell her father of Almyra. Not everything. Not the constant fear, not the poisonous words of the nobility, and not of the quiet, gentle moments with Kerem that she could not bear to share with anyone else. But she told him of Almyra. She told him of treasonous plots and innocent victims, of friendship and camaraderie and the way the sun would set golden through the library windows and how the kitchen always,  _ always _ smelled just faintly of vanilla. She told him of a boy with his eyes to the stars and a girl with her eyes on the horizon. Of misunderstandings, of loss, of tragedy. Of her first real friendship crushed beneath the blade of another, and of the lifeblood that dried on her dress as she fled for her life. Of a promise for the future, one that kept her going through the darkest nights and longest days. 

She told him of the boy in the forest, his harsh words and refusal to acknowledge his past. 

Jeralt sat and listened to her speak, long after her tea went cold and the sun had risen in the sky. The sound of students making their way from their dorms to the dining hall for their meal filled the silence after she finished. 

“Byleth,” he said finally. “Thank you for telling me. When Claude told me you were troubled I wouldn’t have guessed…” 

Wait, Claude?

Jeralt chuckled scathingly below his breath. 

“Some father I am, letting my kid get caught up in all of that.”

“Dad,” Byleth said, her tone admonishing. Jeralt held his hands up defensively. “You said that Claude told you I was troubled?”

“Yeah.” Jeralt nodded, his hands falling back into his lap. “This morning. Stopped me in the hall and said you didn’t sleep last night and to check in on you.”

How had he known?

Byleth wracked her brain, trying to figure out how Claude could have known that she hadn’t slept. Perhaps it had been a guess? But no, he had never been the type to guess without cause. The most logical conclusion was that he had seen the light from her candles under her door in the night. She wasn’t quite sure where he slept, but the only way he would have seen that was if he too had been awake all night. 

Was it okay for her to worry about his sleep habits? He was her student, surely he couldn’t find fault in her concern if it could affect his work and training?

Yes, that seemed logical. She should go check on him, to be sure, to remind him not to slack off on his duties again. 

Byleth rose from her seat, but as soon as she moved to take a step her vision began to blur and her body swayed, the lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion finally catching up to her. Jeralt stood from the bed, and gestured for her to lie down. 

“Come on, kid, get some sleep. I’ll wake you for training tomorrow morning,” he said. Byleth could do nothing but nod her head and stumble to bed, her eyes fluttering closed the moment her body hit the mattress. 

Tomorrow. Sunday. A new day. 

She’d deal with everything then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again y’all!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/tzubakis/) and [Tumblr](https://tzubakis.tumblr.com/) for fic updates and memes!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mercenary, Retainer, Demon & Professor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750815) by [FanFiction_Artist_Prototype](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFiction_Artist_Prototype/pseuds/FanFiction_Artist_Prototype)


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